Feelings of Fabric
by Moony73
Summary: Into Tonks' life intrudes Xavier, a ghostly vampire, and the German werewolf, Malcolm Halloway. Soon out of it goes Remus Lupin. In his place are twisted pasts that will stop at nothing to resurface into both of the outcasts’ lives and now Tonks' as well.
1. White Velvet

_White Velvet _

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so it's 107 out here in Phoenix and I'm dying… **

—**I wish it was snowing. Anyway— **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

She slipped on the stone steps. The rush of air through her lungs made her eyes widen in surprise. The warmth of the bookstore was replaced by the cold of the snow falling around her. And the intrusion of the voice stabbing her surprise made her breath catch twice.

The pallid blob of hand that had clenched her wrist was chilled but miraculously comforting. The sound of a man's voice radiated from the pale unobtrusive throat belonging to that said figure. "Careful."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Along with her face, her hair changed to that of an embarrassing shade of bright pink instead of the dark purple it had been. Pursing her lips, Tonks apologized again, thanked this courteous man for catching her on such an off time, and resumed walking down the street. It wasn't more than three minutes when she resurfaced from her continued musing to find him gallivanting in the street alongside her. "Are you _following_ me?" she queried in a challenging, superior tone. The playfulness that colored it was almost clear and invisible if it hadn't been for the smile glued to her face and the pitiful, caught look that captured _his_ like prey.

"Sorry." He stopped in the street, and she slowed to a stop herself after a few more steps. She felt like he was playing a game…

"Can I _help_ you?"

"Uhm."

She paused for effect, just to be polite—she was surprised at the patience she was lending him. "Do you need a place to go?" His eyes studied her and for once she realized just how dark they were. Unlike Remus, he had the eyes of blood underneath the soft silver light of a full moon. But, like Remus, he was pale, as pale as the snow to be exact… and skinny. _Unbearably, undeniably _skinny she would tell Remus several times a week. The thought lit the smile on her face brightly.

And his words brought her back to the cold of the snow on her exposed skin.

"I can't—" He sounded almost like a child. She had first guessed that he was poor… but the coat he wore—a velvet beauty with buttons of silver, particularly echoing the definition of warmth—and the ebony waves of his hair were too clean and well-maintained for him to have lack of employment. She didn't believe she had caught someone on this day. It was supposed to be a shopping day for _Remus_.

"Where exactly are you _from_?" she retorted impatiently. The patience was wearing thin, and her surprise at herself was washing away. At her tone, he shuffled his polished shoes in the snow, _yeah, he's definitely not poor_, she thought suddenly—suddenly…

He pushed her against the window of a nearby shop and whispered against the vulnerability of her warm neck.

"I'm a vampire." His tongue laced the veins of her throat with a chill unlike any other she had felt before. The hair pricked fearfully at the back of her neck, filling her stomach with a foreboding that she was not used to at all. The pink locks of her hair changed from those of a bright, raucous pink to that of a blazing red. It stood out well against her imperial purple turtleneck and the blaring white snow of winter's breath. It matched his eyes, lit in the shadows of her fear.

She gasped quietly, her breath ragged as she closed her eyes. _What is bloody hell _happening Pushing the figure roughly away from her own body, she stared sternly at the man—_vampire_—in front of her… innocent and guilty-stricken.

"I—I… I am _so_ sorry. I couldn't help myself. I smelled the werewolf on you, and—well, I—" He stammered, staring at his feet, lip trembling. Why hadn't he bitten her? Didn't they just attack viciously, carelessly and after the bite throw their useless victims away like a piece of used paper or trash? She didn't understand. The clouds shrouded the sun and the snow fell harder, the wind came louder and his words echoed in her ears.

"What are you trying to say?" Compared to her, he was a…

"I need somewhere to stay, and I cannot if I—I don't like to intrude."

"You've already intruded more than you think," Tonks muttered. She looked up at him carefully. Gingerly feeling the bruised veins in her neck, Tonks moved against the wall of whatever building she stood in front of. Immediately, she remembered that they were standing in front of a bustling crowd in the middle of a December snowstorm. "What's your name?"

"My name is Xavier Black. And as I stated before, I am a vampire." His voice had obtained some sort of unknown strength.

Word by word, the name struck her as a shock. "From the Black family?" At this question, he nodded, "The Wizarding family, _Black_?" A more fervent nod and he continued as if he was cutting her off, adding to the conversation.

"That is why I didn't bite you. We are of some sort of… relation—I understand—and I need your help. I know the name is wretched, people spit on it. But I assure you, I am under no Death Eater influence. I would be what you call a _loner_; my family has shunned me for years, being what I am, and because of my father…" His voice was smooth and unyielding.

Tentatively, she continued, "Then why do you ask _me_ for help? I can't do anything for you—"

Simply, he spoke, "Because you're in danger."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	2. Ebony Silk

_Ebony Silk_

* * *

**A/N: Nothing too graphic. Yet…**

* * *

"What do you mean, '_I'm in _danger'? How in the world—"

Tonks flitted in and out of the scene around her.

Her mind was racing rapidly and wandering far. She knew the snow was billowing angrily around her with his fervent words stroking her over and over again. You're in danger, you're in danger. Her mind and instincts kicked in.

Figure out the situation, find a solution and get the hell out of the problem.

_You're in danger_, Tonks, in _danger_… she knew the wind was howling profusely and intently against her sweater, but she was oblivious to it all.

She could only focus on the man in front of her. And the problem she had just been faced with.

"Take me to your home and I will explain there. I've been on the run since last month, and I need a place to rest. My father will be looking about London soon…" She paused at his last words. He kept mentioning his father through the howl of the wind, as people disappeared into shops or in thin air, she couldn't move… just wonder what he meant.

What did his father have anything to do with this? His family had shunned him… But as he moved closer to Tonks, he gave no answer. After hesitating she drew him close. He stood next to Tonks until she turned into him—his hand clutching tightly at her arm—and they both disappeared out of the chilled holiday-globe of Diagon Alley.

**—iii**—

The musical cadence of water dancing playfully upon the porcelain of the tub made Tonks shiver in her sweater—it couldn't be more than twenty degrees outside and there were no steamy tendrils slinking their way from underneath the door—so she had brought an _insane_ vampire home with her, of all people! _What is he _doing?! Her brow knitted in curiosity as she stepped "stealthily" down the hallway. She brought her hand to rest against the thin door that blocked her from the bathroom. _Should I knock?_

At this thought, she almost immediately tripped on the umbrella stand. "Son of a—For Merlin's _merciless_ _sake_!" She cursed profusely, clutching her ankle until she bounced over to the comfort of the sofa in the sitting area. The squelch of the door opening and giving way to the hallway made her look up alert and ready.

"Are you okay?" Xavier called from the bathroom. She barely glanced the snowy white tile against the midnight waves of his dripping hair before she made herself look away. She refused letting her eyes roam over his sculpted figure. _What in the hell—_

"Are you _okay_?" he called once more, nearly impatient. His voice grew in volume at the stretch of silence as Tonks didn't answer. The shelves of books blocked her view, but she didn't acknowledge them at all.

"Y—_Yes_, I'm fine! I think I just bruised my ankle but I'll _live_." She sighed as the door was closed tightly, and the bathroom was shut off once more. _What would Remus think of me?!_ She couldn't believe herself. The feelings had just overcome her involuntarily: a wave of emotion and wanting that she didn't recognize at all. Dammit. "What in the _hell_ is _wrong_ with me?!"

The water in the distant room was silenced gently a few minutes after. She could hear the pitter-patter of feet against the black bathroom mat. Xavier paused before his hand fiddled with the door; once it was open, she studied the vampire behind his back. "What were you doing?" His voice made her resurface into his wondering eyes. He stood in front of her now, and she lost herself in his imperial violet eyes.

They were shining, ladled with a hint of curiosity—glinting like that of a glittering stone in the brightened, bare light of the far bathroom. And she couldn't stop her own eyes from staring at them. They were deep and seemingly endless, and her thoughts weren't helping. She looked away from his eyes and studied him as a whole.

He had made his way down the hall while she sat still and waiting on the couch. He stood there motionless as she tried her chance at talking. "About me being in trouble—" she started. Trouble, she said trouble. _I'm in _danger_… What is _danger_ exactly? _She couldn't stop herself from saying trouble. She couldn't stop herself anymore, actually. Honestly, after all, it was hard to imagine anyone wanting to hurt or kill her. She was an Auror and worked with the Ministry, but she wasn't close to the Minister, and she hadn't caught more than a few Death Eaters. She had mostly been fooling around with petty criminals.

Nothing…

And yet, she had managed to find herself in _danger_… Already.

"_No_, you have to answer _my_ question _first_." There was no question as to who was more demanding of the two. The control that glazed the command was almost surprising.

_Could he really be that dominant? _She shook her head as if she had been submerged in water—she was hardly putting up a fight, battling weakly to make these thoughts leave her alone. The pale porcelain of his face closed in toward hers. She made no move to back away. And he crouched in front of her on the carpet, his figure ornamented in droplets of cold water that decorated the floor as he moved.

She couldn't push away the sweetness of his rosy lips. His arms grasped the itching fabric of her sweater, and she closed her eyes against the contact. His hands—soft and gentle on her neck—pulled her closer to him. His lips nipped tentatively at her neck. Soon enough, she had been drawn against his chest. His mouth became more and more fervent and suddenly…

The jolt of dizziness that overcame her was unbelievable. He lowered her to the ground, her face pallid in her own surprise.

His darkened eyes roamed over her face. Bloody and deep, his lips lowered to hers. He jumped up from his crouching position, his eyes lavender bright, like hers. In a daze of stretching fog, she felt his arms around her and the pull of her stomach as she rose from the floor. Against the pillows she wilted. The blankets were soft as they enveloped her. He kissed her forehead a bloody red goodbye and in a rasping whisper, he muttered to her, "I'm sorry."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	3. Constricting Cotton

_Constricting Cotton _

* * *

**A/N: Ah, the entrance of a loner werewolf…**

**Nothing like an indirect death threat to get you up and about.**

* * *

Tonks heard her breath being _torn_ from her. The sweaty blankets strangled her and her cheek flopped against the pillow several times over. Unaware of where the hell she was, she pushed against the blinding cream of the sunlight that illuminated everything in the bedroom.

"_Nymphadora_." Like the sunlight around her, the soft whisper wafted in the air until it floated to a stop on the tip of her nose. Shielding her eyes from the brightness of the light, Tonks let her fingers touch the rippling, throbbing spot on her neck—it had been the reason she woke up. The jolt of pain and…

Again the sound came… but from _where_?

The slight exhale of air that brought the voice to her made her shiver. It wasn't a ghost's voice, like voices in those oldie-Muggle movies her father watched with her as a little kid. This was real, a whisper of wind against her face; she could almost feel the breath of whomever spoke on her face.

It had only been the wind from the open window nestled in the corner of the room, she realized, as her fingers grazed the bruise on her neck greedily once again. A few seconds later—gently this time—she rubbed at the wound. Or was it really there?

"Damn _pillows_." Tonks paused before sliding her feet against the carpeted floor. The warmth she had been enveloped in left her bare and unsafe in the sudden chill of her home. Her white cotton pants and button-uptee did nothing to keep her protected from the biting cold. She stumbled over to the window in her punch-drunk fatigue and slammed it shut against the icy chill of December and silence of the house.

The sound echoed around her as if the room was huge and waiting to swallow her. More than just a bit spooked and uneasy, she wandered down the hall and into the kitchen, cursing the window for even being open.

"You know, I really don't think your pillows are the cause of that." The voice was directed at her. The worn fabric of her clothing showed a mellow orange in the light of the setting sun. And of course she jumped.

She danced in a circle, looking twice into the blur of the sitting room until her eyes came to rest on the figure leaning almost uneasily against the stove in her kitchen. "Dizzy?" Rays from the dying sun struck her playfully—as if it was fun to blind her. _How long was I asleep_? She let her face fall into a veil of consternation—first because she didn't know how long she had actually slept. Second, because her mind was hurling unanswered questions abundant in cursing at the man standing in front of her. The headache was starting to come already.

"I didn't think you would wake up until the next Ice Age." The sarcasm in the phrase made her focus on his face. "I thought Xavier wouldn't have left you here after biting you, but I guess my instincts proved me wrong this time." The statement was simple, but the name didn't bubble to the surface as she had thought it would.

"So it wasn't just a _dream_?" Her voice was course, broken glass against the ominous, rumbling tremor dancing a jig around her ears, making her head pound even more.And when he didn't answer she saw it as an opportunity to study him.

Scrappy and unshaven, his face was drawn and etched out of deep, serious lines. His hair was a cascading, glowing mess of ember nettle, caught and twisted, uncombed and still… _neat_ where it grazed his shoulders. Shadowed—his eyes were dark, deep, and searching as Tonks persisted to take time examining him openly. His jacket was worn, with gaping holes wounding the fabric. The sleeves were pushed up to the elbow and the cloth was black against his coppery, bronze skin. He wore a simple pair of faded jeans and carefully crafted leather boots—they looked handmade.

Unceremoniously, her bare feet curled into the short-lasting comfort of the edges of her thin pants at the idea of warmth.It was freezing! She would have loved to walk up to him and curl into the warmth of his jacket and lean against his chest. But instead… It was five minutes later until she tentatively asked through the quiet why he was standing in front of her.

"Xavier told me to stay and watch over you. I was here after he left. He said this was a safe place to stay, and that I needed to keep an eye on you; you don't need to leave here any time soon, you know," he added indefatigably.

_How in the _hell_ did I know _this_ was going to happen?!_ "This isn't some asylum!" she exclaimed suddenly,"You can't just come barging in here—" She stamped a foot on the stained tile of the floor.

"Hey, hey." Guardedly he raised his rough hands to shield himself from her protests, "He said only for _me_ to stay. You're lucky I didn't decide to bring the whole pack."

Bit by tiny bit, she realized what he was talking about and glued together the pieces. "You're a werewolf?" Tonks' voice was careful, and it died in her throat after he nodded.

"Yes, the camp I'm from has other werewolves that wanted to follow me here instead of staying in one place. And I know another werewolf stays with you." At her confusion, he continued, "I could smell him. But that's not the point." He waved away her arising questions. "The point—"

She brought her cold hands to her hips and he knew she wanted an explanation… right then and there. Tonks waited for him to speak. "The only reason Xavier bit you is that he wanted to mark you so no one else would." At this she was angered and her open-mouthed confusion was something he didn't blame her for. He always screwed up at things like this. Cursing Xavier and his hurriedness, he tried to further explain, "No, no, you don't get it! _Look_." He stared down at the ground, swallowed his unsaid words and stared at her pleadingly. "You must _not_ be alarmed."

"Just _tell_ me what you're trying to say, damn it!" Tonks felt like screaming in frustration, confusion. All of this had to happen _after_ Remus had left!

She felt that everything—the run-in with Xavier Black in Diagon Alley, bringing him here… the few hours afterward—it was all suffocating her. All the confusion, not knowing _what_ was happening to her, and even more importantly _why_ it was going to drive her crazy. _If I scream at the top of my lungs, I wonder if anyone in London would hear it._ This thought made her stare at the shining metal of the sink in inquiry.

A sigh brought her back into the kitchen from the invisible barrier she had hidden behind for a moment.

She focused on his words.

"I am Malcolm Halloway. I am a werewolf from the underground encampment of werewolves that Greyback leads _here_ in London. Part of one that Remus has been assigned to stay with," he hinted and added quickly for her own sake, "_No_, I am _not_ under Death Eater authority; I'm from Germany and protest _Greyback's_ ways." He spat the name, rolled his eyes at his empty assurances and her cautious behavior as finally let his explanation unfolded.

"I have been informed that Greyback intends to hunt you down and _kill_ you."

* * *

**TBC **

* * *

_Moony7__3_


	4. Dingy, Depressed Denim

_Dingy, Depressed Denim_

* * *

**A/N: To betray or not to betray. _That_ is the question. **

**Just a tease. Or a real threat.**

* * *

It was several hours before Xavier had finally returned.

Tonks eventually realized that Malcolm hadn't moved from the sitting room where he had sat on the sofa since 8:00, bent forward with his hands against his forehead. Stepping out of the bathroom for the third time that afternoon, Tonks surreptitiously glanced at his tense figure. His melted brown eyes looked right through her where she stood frozen in the hallway.

She smacked her toe hard against the door frame in a caught frenzy. "Sorry." Muttering how idiotic she was, she made her way quickly down the hall to her room. It was there she had been the whole evening.

Seconds later, the excited squealing of the front door commanded Malcolm to relinquish his seated position on the black leather couch. "Where is she?" He stood as the soft woven silk of voice floated from the doorway.

"You can come in," Malcolm assured. It was only after this patter of words on the walls when the slender, black-clad figure of Xavier entered the living room. He stood erect and waiting in the doorway with a worried look claiming his face dominantly. "Where've you been?"

"Just wandering around," he added cautiously with a shake of his head, "I wasn't sure I could face her. She wouldn't understand how dire this is." Malcolm studied the forested green of the carpet on the floor as Xavier spoke. His boots scuffed at the fabric carefully.

"She likes you, you know," his lips curled at the accusation that colored them a gracious red. Eyes narrowing, Xavier moved from the hallway and back into the kitchen. Malcolm followed him until they both stood there silently. "You have to be more careful."

"Who are you to tell me to be careful?!" Flaring, the deep welling darkness of Xavier's eyes flitted over Malcolm's figure quickly, reproachful and daring. "I'm trying to do what I think is right. She was good enough to let me, and you," he stated pointedly, "stay here. She could have just apparated out of Diagon and left me there to stare and wonder what I _could_ have done to help her. Biting her was the only thing I thought would help. I'm surprised I didn't kill her."

Malcolm's shoulders flopped and drooped in admitted defeat. "You're right."

—**vi**—

**1:13**

That was what the clock in her room had declared before someone had actually dared to knock on her bedroom door. _So I've been in here since seven._ Tonks looked accusingly at the door, wondering what she should do, wondering who was waiting behind that barrier. _I've already let them stay here. I supposed I'll have to talk to them sooner or later._

"Come in." She sat settled against the covers that decorated her bed. A small thin blanket laced her ankles. She sat staring at the wall until a voice finally decided to intrude.

"I'm sorry about last night—and for leaving you this afternoon." _Xavier,_ she presumed. "I had no right not to tell you I would have someone staying here with you. Malcolm doesn't make good company, I know." Tonks' soft laugh brought a creeping smile to the silhouette of Xavier's face.

"Can you explain _what_ the hell is going on? _Please_." She was trying to be polite, which in true fact was outrageously weird for her. She didn't do the same for Malcolm, but she found herself adding the lightened word anyway.

"You're in danger, love." The glint of his eyes finally entered her room as the word caught in her ears. It was then he quietly shut the door. "Greyback knows that Remus is a spy. He is going to prove it by hunting you down. And maybe even trying to kill you, hence my biting you. If you have another werewolf staying here, Malcolm," he interjected, "Then Greyback will realize he has the wrong person and he will leave you alone. I bit you because—well, because—"

"You couldn't help yourself," Tonks asked.

"You smell good," he whispered with a soft breathy laugh.

"You didn't answer the question," she muttered and let her voice capture the perfect sound of being offended. Rolling her eyes at his sudden silence, she let him perch on the edge of the bed. "It's not a trick quest—"

"I just wanted to bite you. I couldn't help myself." One moment later and the whispered words, "I'm sorry," condensed the air in the room. Tonks could feel with a sense of dread that this was something Xavier thought was wrong.

Her voice was light, nonchalant, "What if you hadn't bitten me?"

"I had planned on getting a werewolf to bite you. Malcolm. I knew Remus wouldn't do it." This added statement was offhanded but Tonks took it to ask:

"What do you mean _you knew he wouldn't_?"

Xavier let his head fall steadily forward in silent thought. "That's why I left. To tell him what happened and see if he would do it."

"Bite me, you mean. He's told me over and over that's why we shouldn't be together."

She was starting to ramble restlessly and Xavier stopped her. He was quiet until the light from the window settled on his figure still seated on the bed. Raising his head, he studied her carefully, gauging what should be said next. In his hesitance, Tonks started to wonder what he was thinking. _What is this going to turn into? Biting me, that's supposed to be some sort of affection, but Remus—what would he do? What would he say? Damn it, what the hell am I _thinking_?! I _love_ Remus._

Tonks told herself to shut up and motioned for Xavier to talk before the quiet absolutely suffocated her. When he didn't speak, she jumped out and just said what she was thinking, "Is a vampire bite supposed to be affectionate?!"

This question seemed to take him by surprise. "What do you mean?" His tone was playful, as if she was kidding.

"Exactly what I said," Tonks was obstinate, surprised. He was laughing at her!

"It can be. In some ways." This vague answer only made her squirm in confusion. _He knows that I'm helpless here. If he knew how long I could scream, jump up and down, and—Why the hell does he have to be so unclear when I want to _know?

"In your case I was just marking you as mine, so Greyback wouldn't touch you." After this didn't satisfy her, Tonks moved toward Xavier. His figure was turned away from her; his hands were placed by his sides on the wood of the frame, and his shoulders were crowded against his neck as though he was trying to hide something he didn't want to reveal at all.

"I can only be a friend to you. You are Remus'. Don't invest silly _teenage_ love into something that will not last."

With these words, Xavier turned to her, pale face lit and bright in the silver light of night. Black lips curled in a serene, calm smile, he leaned over in what Tonks thought had been a simple bow and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Closing the door behind him, he left her to stare at the light from the hallway that encircled the door in a comforting gesture. She turned away and allowed the darkened room to force her into the unformed and already squirming thoughts that had been there for two days. Cursing her very being for even thinking such horrible thoughts, she sighed and huffily threw herself against the curled blankets on her bed. Sighing just before she slipped into a complete, dizzying unconsciousness, her lips tingled at the last remnants of the kiss.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	5. Putrid Polyester

_Putrid Polyester_

* * *

**A****/N: You shall see. **

**Remus shall arrive sooner or later!**

* * *

Tonks woke with the foulest of tastes in her mouth. The sun was rising just as she sat up. _Damn_, she hadn't even moved to sleep beneath the covers, just passed out on the bed. _Bloody hell,_ she paused before leaving her lit bedroom. The light was blank as she looked around one more time before exiting into the hallway.

She bent forward to look down the hall, her auror instincts getting the best of her, and fell forward against the door on the opposite side of the hall. It opened as she pushed at it for support. It hadn't even been closed.

The darkness that opened itself without hesitance was oppressing and solid. She couldn't see anything in front of her while she allowed her socks to glide quietly on the smooth surface of wood; _she_ slid quietly into the room. The door, however, squeaked in alarm at her presence, and there was an explosion of movement. Someone rose from the small bed that was positioned in the center of the room.

Her eyes had adjusted somewhat, and she could see thick black locks contrasted against the far white-washed wall. "X—"

"What are you doing?" he questioned, no emotion silting his voice as he spoke immediately.

"I—" She struggled helplessly with the words that had suddenly come to choke her. She couldn't tell, but in the darkness he quirked a brow at her intentions. Just what _was_ she doing in here? "I tripped in the hallway and fell against the… door," her voice fell quietly until she continued unwaveringly, "I didn't know it was opened. I'm sorry for disturbing you—I'll go," she added, turning toward the door in the darkness.

She paused outside the door, her hand, illuminated by the captured light of the hallway, remained vibrant against the darkened face of the door in hesitance. Xavier sat frozen in the bed until she looked down at the floor quietly bearing the expression of embarrassment or regret on her face, he couldn't tell and left him to sit in the enclosed darkness.

Tonks stepped quietly down the carpeted hallway until she reached the kitchen. She wasn't exactly starving. "You know, you shouldn't have done that." A rough, thick voice stopped her and her unformed thoughts as she slowly rummaged through the cabinets to no avail. She looked up quietly at the hallway. There was no one standing there. "He doesn't want to be… the reason your life is ruined."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't want you to _think_ that there could be… Well, for lack of anything better… something _more_ than just friendship. He loves you, yeah, but he doesn't want to put you in danger because of that… I guess. Vampires, they're too confusing." With a grand finish, Malcolm appeared from in the sitting room. Why hadn't she noticed him before? He had taken his jacket off and his shirt clung to his chest as if it meant everything in the world. She tugged her eyes away from his appearance and replied curtly.

"I don't love him, though. I love Remus."

"Explain that kiss, then," he retorted quietly to the carpet. At least a minute later he added hesitantly, "And he bit you. He doesn't do that often. Even to people who ask. He _cares_ about you."

"Is that a suggestion?"

Malcolm shrugged in answer.

_Yes or no, __dammit, _her mind seemed to scream even when she didn't. Everything was just so… twisted and confusing. She didn't know, from the first moment he had said it, what Xavier meant by her being in _danger_. Fenrir didn't know where Tonks lived. Remus hadn't been assigned to go and willing give himself up yet. And if in the process Greyback found out there was a leak and decided to find _her _to get to Remus, the charms around her house would provide enough protection. She was a skilled enough auror to take down a werewolf even if she wasn't hidden away in her home. She inwardly sighed. This had been a confusing few days.

"Come here," Malcolm commanded, bringing her out of her thoughts as he seated himself on one of the couches. She reluctantly went to him. He held his hand out and muttered mockingly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Patting the seat, he told her to sit silently. She did and sat stiffly on the couch. _Relax, you idiot, he said he wasn't going to try anything_. And though her thoughts were smacking her in the face, she ignored them and didn't lean back into the comfort the sofa offered to her.

Shaking herself mentally, she lazily heaved a breath and stood up with her back to him.

"I can't stand this!" she shouted.

The clicking of a door nestling into its frame did not reach her ears and she continued relentlessly. "This is driving me crazy! You two," she said accusingly, her voice rising just as her hand did when she gestured to him seated easily on the couch, "I don't even know _why_ you're here! And it's driving me crazy! I don't know when one of you is going to be gone, and you don't tell me what you do when you're gone either. You've just stepped into my life without a warning! Xavier's secretiveness is going to make me choke him senseless, and you're acting like nothing in the world could _possibly_ be wrong! Why, in bloody sodding hell, is all of this bullocks happening to me, huh?!"

She was ranting, he knew, but it was only because of their caution when it came to her. She would have to get over it, his told himself quietly. His face would have showed nothing, if not for the smug smile tickling and itching at his lips at her frustration. "And you're laughing at me, you _asshole_!"

She turned to her immediate left and finally realized there was someone standing noiselessly in the doorway. Xavier was silently hunched against the outcropping of wall nearest the front door. Once she noticed he was there, he turned with only the sound of his footsteps making his presence real.

"Xavier! Xavier, you _brat_!" Malcolm called immediately after the fading black figure. Tonks looked around the kitchen dumbstruck, searching for the clock mounted on one of the walls. It announced the time of day when she looked at it and an emblazoned, orange parade of numbers were etched on her wall in a crash of sudden announcement.

**11:56**

After glancing at the shining sketch of wallpaper, she ran blindly down the darkened hallway with the numbers imprinted on her pupils and crashed into Malcolm, who stood banging on the smooth surface of the door that barred the way into the room. He cursed at her before turning his banter on Xavier. "Xavier, let me in, dammit!"

"No, she doesn't want me here! So I'm not leaving this room to bother her until we're done with what we've needed to do. And after we finish up, we can go in silence and leave her to her peace."

"Xavier," Malcolm growling in low warning.

"Fuck. Off." Xavier muttered behind the door. It groaned in protest from the two men's weight on either side.

"I don't. Want to," he countered fixedly. "Xavier, open this _damn_ _door_ before I decide to go outside and break through the fucking _window_. You're being immature!" He waited for a few moments for a reply, but one didn't come. "_Asshole_!" he called to him.

Tonks watched silently bemused at their fighting antics. _Is this how they always sort things out? _She asked herself quietly before moving to shove Malcolm out of the way. He waved her off before she stubbornly placed her hands on her hips, her hair turning a bright, flushed red as her anger showed in her eyes and in the blush that powdered her face.

"_Move_, damn it," she stated calmly and dangerous.

Malcolm looked up with an impressed glitter in his eyes. He backed away from the door, and she skillfully leaned against it.

Whispering, she tentatively spoke to Xavier, "Xavier… I'm sorry. Will you please let me in?" Standing patiently for three extended minutes in the hallway granted only her access to the room.

With the shake of her head, she closed the door in Malcolm's smoldering face.

She turned to the waiting figure already seated on the bed. The room was still dark, and finally she realized the reason why. Both the curtains and blinds had been closed so tightly that when the light from the adjoined hallway slipped gracefully into the room, it became completely dark and unforgiving. She tried her very best not to trip on anything in the room—she had cleaned it a week earlier but only Merlin knew what was left behind on the foreboding floor—and in the end, she failed miserably.

"Oh, _shit_!" she squealed shamelessly.

Amazingly enough, Xavier was there to pad her fall. In mere seconds, hands graced the tightness of her waist, and she was completely motionless… and, not to mention, unexpectedly breathless. "Try to be more careful," he sinfully breathed into her ear.

Tonks closed her eyes in hushed prayer, hoping to hell that he wouldn't do anything. That's_ it!_ Her mind shouted through the silence. She listened patiently while they both stood there unmoving for what seemed like hours on end. _I never know _what_ he's going to do. That's why I'm such an untangled mess!_ "Xavier?" she said aloud.

"You have such delectable blood, did you know that?" he asked in a husky tone.

"I… wouldn't know that, Xavier," she replied quietly, no tone claiming her voice as its own.

"Why do you do that?"

"What do I do?" Tonks asked as she pulled herself out of the embrace and stood straight. "What do you mean?" she corrected herself.

"You act as if I could be your lover," he state simply, "Why?" He could hear her shrug in the thickened darkness. A few hesitant moments later and he added, "_Remus_ is your lover. And you are his." His voice was but a whisper, and it took her a few seconds to decipher what he had spoken.

"Yeah, I know," Tonks retorted once her brain had sorted out the words completely.

"So why do you act so strange around—"

"Xavier, I have no clue. But the only reason I screamed earlier was because I'm being left out of _every_thing. Can you forgive me for that? I didn't mean what I said even when I _did _say it. I don't want to strangle you senseless, _okay_? I'm sorry." She finished by inhaling a sharp breath. His forgiveness was—

What _did _it mean to her?

The question barely registered in her long list of thoughts as he grasped her hand in his own chilled one and led her over toward the bed. He had apparently stood silently up at some point while she was talking, Tonks noted unnecessarily while she was pulled close to his seated figure. He nipped quietly at her neck, and, even when she tried to pull away, gave in senselessly. He wouldn't force her into anything that would cause trouble.

After all, Malcolm had seen to the clearance of that problem. He gripped the back of her knees in order to bring her closer, and kissed the hollow underneath her ear. The muffled sound of her breath in her throat made him smile in absent thought as he continued persistently.

Tonks closed her eyes against the darkness of the bedroom, and forced herself to think of something remotely random. She could feel the emptiness build in the base of her stomach and the absolute need to be full and satisfied. Trying to shake off the trembling shock of it, Tonks pulled away from Xavier's teasing tongue on her ear and forced her lips against the reality of his own. His tongue was surprisingly fervent and unhesitant against hers.

His lips were tender and considerably paced as he pulled her down with him to the bed. She landed with a groan against him, and the hardened muscles of his chest made her jerkily pull away.

His hands fell away from behind her legs and slipped slyly beneath her shirt. Tickling her sides as they went skittishly along, they found the lace of her bra as she squirmed impatiently in his grip. She nestled her head against the hollow of his shoulder and whispered breathlessly into his ear.

"Xavier… Xav—" She lost the last remaining shred of breath she held onto when Xavier artfully and somehow impossibly brought her into the curve of the bed beneath him. He suddenly slowed to a crawling pace and treated her as if she were a fine piece of china that could break at any possible second. As soon as she recovered what little had been her train of thought, she brought her unused hands along his sides to his hands still hidden under her shirt. "_Xavier_," Tonks whispered insistently once more.

He had licked the very hollow at the base of her neck before he slowly looked up. "Sorry. You're—"

"Remus'," she replied quickly, cutting him off. He once again masterfully brought her against his chest in the matter of a minute. She was too tired to argue and so, with the vampire below her facing the blankness of the darkened ceiling above, she laid with her head against the now untense softeness of his chest. Sleep took her fifteen minutes later, and she was completely oblivious to world beyond her unconscious mind.

—**viii**—

The moment the light of the rising sun entered the bedroom, Tonks awoke to the cold, bleached bed-sheets beneath her. She reluctantly peeled her faced from the back of her wet hand. Damn, she had drooled… Internally, she growled as she looked around the room. A vacant light entered through the barely parted curtains. But the room was empty. Completely, totally—there was nothing beyond the border of the bed.

Tonks pushed herself up and went quickly to the door.With heavily lidded eyes, she paced down the hallway and tossed herself upon the closest couch in the sitting room. A sudden, short faint screech reached her ears. She looked around many times only to miss the source of the noise. The sight of a miniature, bug-eyed owl seated against the edge of the counter in front of the sink reached her finally as she stood.

Confounded and confused, Tonks walked over to the small creature and tore away the letter it held tightly in its bright orange beak. Fluffing into a warmed bunch, the owl grudgingly turning and, in a bleak flurry of grey feathers, was gone through the opened kitchen window and off into the outside chill.

It hadn't even been a letter… just a snappy, pinched note written at a moment's notice. That explained the scratched, cramped, mauled words.

_Nymphadora  
I have been assigned a mission by Dumbledore.  
I am going to be __living in an underground camp with other recruited werewolves.  
I shall be gone for extended periods of time.  
I will be working with __Fenrir __Greyback.  
In order to keep you out of danger, I think  
I think we should not see each other anymore until further notice.  
I am sorry. I love you.  
Remus_

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	6. Languid Laced Leisure

_Languid Laced Leisure_

* * *

**A/N: I don't know where I'm going wrong with this for lack of reviews, **

**But I thank those who took the time to leave note:**

**girl-bluexXxheart-torn, ReviewsGalore, and Belladonna**

_

* * *

_Blurred—

That was what the rest of the day was.

A blur.

Tonks didn't know what she had eaten for lunch, if she did eat.

Xavier hadn't even warned her he had silently arrived that afternoon, and so she ended up running into _him_ when she had _intended_ to go to the bathroom. It was a mess of events, splotched and empty in her mind. She hadn't even turned away in embarrassment. Nonchalantly, she closed the bathroom door behind her and immediately went to her bedroom.

She had to jerk open a window as she retched. For a moment, one slight, insignificant moment, she had thought the said Xavier had been Remus; the explosion of emotions had made her actually vomit. She even missed the opening of her bedroom door as she turned to her bed. It was so inviting… or it would have been if Malcolm hadn't ceremoniously stretched out on it... without a shit on. The fireworks from anger and confusion didn't even show in her expression. She just waved him off as if it had been nothing and stepped out of the room. Tonks also didn't notice the worrisome frown Malcolm wore as she left.

Stepping across the hall, she pushed open the door without a sound executing from the hinges. she threw her body forward after moving into the room with a sigh and landed limply on… something. _Something hard and muscular,_ she realized with a breathless groan as her hands searched whatever was _under_ her. "What are you _doing_ in here?" _More importantly, _how_ did he get in here?_

She shut her mind completely off as she jumped from the bed. "Stop following me," she continued when he didn't answer. "I want to be alone."

"I'm not going to leave you alone. You need someone here for you—"

"No I don't—" she cut him off only to cut off in return.

"And Xavier's too cowardly to do that," he finished and added quickly, "He thinks he's the reason this happened." There was a stretched, elongated, mutilated silence in between them and neither did anything to break it.

"Well it's not his fault." She paused to blame someone else, "It's all _Dumbledore's_ fault."

"It was _Remus'_ decision. He could have decided not to take the mission. But when he did, he _also_ chose to keep you out of harm's way. He cared about you enough to hurt the both of you—"

"If he actually _cared_ about me at all, he wouldn't have taken that damned mission and would have come home!" she shouted at Malcolm. "And then you two wouldn't be here _acting_ as if _you _cared about me!"

"We _do_ care about you, Tonks! Just _listen _tome for a damn minute!" She was silently indignant at his outburst but waited to listen to what he had to say. "We do care about you," he said once again softly. "But Fenrir could give a flying fuck less and was suspicious of Remus ever since they started to meet. He _had_ to begin staying there on both Dumbledore's orders and for _both_ your lives. The Order knew every town the pack was planning raid. Fenrir was suspecting that _he_ was the leak, and he was willing to track down _every_one and _any_one that had _any_thing at all to do with _every_ _single_ _one_ of his werewolves. He found out that Remus and you were _together_—we _still_ don't know how," he added, "He made a threat that he would track you down and _kill_ you." This logical mess made her head spin in bewilderment. But he didn't say another word, just leaned up, kissed her cheek as softly as he possibly could—considering the major shave he needed—and wrapped his strong deliberate arms around her shoulders. "He did it for _you_."

She let herself relax into the embrace. Malcolm wasn't as mysterious as Xavier, but he could be unbearably annoying, tempermental and impatient. Maybe that was why he seemed like such a fitting… _friend_. "I know," she responded vaguely.

After five minutes, she turned to her left in the darkness—the curtains had apparently been closed while Xavier had once again inhabited the room—and leaned closer against him. She spoke lightly, "What do you mean when you kiss me, you and Xavier both?"

She couldn't see the contours of his face and the small smile held there. Knowingly, he answered, "You're my friend. I care about you; I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt you. The same goes with Xavier. He just… has different ways of showing it."

"The bite?" she questioned accordingly.

She felt Malcolm's head come forward, felt the chilled softness of his tongue on the vulnerable right side of her neck. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and tilted her chin toward the ceiling. "Mm-hmm," he finally murmured against her skin. Tonks could feel his voice vibrate smoothly in his throat as the sound slowly grew lower to a growl. He licked the skin his tongue had traced over many times, nipping as he went. Her gasp was the reason she could feel a smile against her neck moments after. He finally stopped to grip her earlobe in his teeth. Tonks wriggled in his grasp when he finally released her shoulders. She felt his hands slip under her arms, down her sides where they stopped and gripped her hips.

Malcolm pulled himself out of the embrace and nestled her against his left side. Tonks turned right to look up at him, her head resting against his chiseled chest as her hand withdrew itself from where it was on her hip; soon it came to lace around his waist. She felt his heated hands run through her hair surprisingly gently.

_It's probably some funky color, like brown now_, Tonks wrinkled her nose at the thought as if she smelled something foul and continued to silently peruse her mind. _He's really _different_ from Xavier. They're complete _opposites"Hmm," she hummed satisfyingly while burying her face into his shoulder. _Xavier's passionate and insistent, and Malcolm's tentative, cautious, and… he's _warm, she thought while reliving the shock of Xavier's cold hands against the flushed skin beneath her shirt. Closing her eyes, she settled into the warmth Malcolm allowed her and slipped quietly into reverie, into safety.

Tonks woke to the course feeling of someone stroking her face. The fingertips of whomever's hand it belonged to we abrasive, calloused, rough, and she instantly pulled away from the contact.

The rumbling chuckle that followed suit of her actions made her look up. "You're looking at me as if I were crazy," Malcolm's breathy words brought her into immediate reality. She had gone to sleep. She had gone to sleep because she was _sad_. Emotionless—unstable—she had _gone_ to sleep—_Remus_ was gone. _Remus_ was… She could feel the slight tingling of soured acid building up in her throat. She swallowed the truth as reality was smeared rudely in her face. Wiping her burning, dry eyes, her vision was cleared from the hazy veil it had been drowned in.

Vicarious light entered through the explicitly parted curtains. She narrowed her eyes reproachfully at the insulting brightness and turned to Malcolm once again. Just as she did, he spoke almost thoughtfully. "You were crying. In your sleep," he added with the slight hesitant raise of his golden brow. His eyes were questioning as he pondered her dream.

Tonks shrugged as she rested her head on his globed shoulder. With a roll of his eyes, he asked, "What were you dreaming about?" She remained silent until his warmed hands enveloped her tense shoulders and brought her to look at him. "You don't have to be the strong all the time," he whispered involuntarily.

"But I _do_! I can _never_ be weak; I'm not _supposed_ to cry."

With a shake of his head, Malcolm contradicted her, "Not _all_ the time. I'm not going to rub it in your face and tell everyone you actually _cried_ for once! …It'll make you feel better about everything," he added coaxingly. She leaned into him and spoke lightly.

"I was dreaming about Remus, of course… he," her voice fell as she tried failing to continue. Tears laced the contours of her eyes before she even noticed their excruciating exist. Merlin, did she _hate_ to cry. It just… she felt so _weak_ened. Tonks was _never_ vulnerable; she _never_ let anyone close enough to let them hurt her in any way. But Remus, he was an exception, always was. Maybe that was why he—no, she would _not_ give in to his _stupid_ excuses. Never! "He killed himself… for me." Her voice croaked in the stale air, her throat was choking her, she was drowning in her tears, and suddenly the embrace Malcolm held her in was the way out. She sobbed openly into his shoulder, murmuring things that he probably couldn't understand like:

"I'm _never_ going to get him back."

"It's all _Dumbledore's_ fault!"

"_Why_?" Shaking her head, she continued to cry, streaking Malcolm's smooth modeled skin as she did so. He could feel her nails dig into his sides and, grimacing, focused carefully on the course feeling of the sweater she wore against his stomach and around his waist to ignore the slight discomfort.

"It's okay," he whispered to her, stroking her hair. In the course of her sleeping, Malcolm had cautiously left his place beneath her to part the curtains. Turning, he had realized that her hair had become long, shaggy and a dull brown, and he had run his fingers through it, surprised at the amount of softness laced into each strand that fell from his gentle fingers. _That_ was what he stroked now, the dull silk tangled in his fingers. Malcolm could feel the warmed tears coat his skin wetly, could feel her moistened eyes study him when she looked up at that sound of his parched voice. "It's _okay._"

"No," she muttered insistently with another shake of her head. She was beginning to become hysterical at the fact that Remus J. Lupin was indeed gone. "In the dream… the dream—he—he killed himself just as he was transforming. He was changing and he hadn't taken any, any Wolfsbane. And when he plunged the knife into his chest, Malcolm—Malcolm, it was—" He could hear her breath hasten as her eyes were coated with more oncoming tears. They glistened in the light as she recklessly continued, "There was blood everywhere. It splattered on my face, burned my eyes. I could smell it and taste it on my tongue. It was… _horrible_," she whispered lastly with the close of her eyes. With his right hand, he brought her head to rest on his chest.

What seemed like hours later—when they only happened to be minutes—the jagged sounds of her jerking breathing settled at the steady rhythm of his beating heart. Only when he came to inhale deeply to check if she was awake did he realize that exhaustion had taken her body and thrown it into a bout of unconsciousness. He moved slowly, carefully, tenderly as he got up from the bed. Resting her head on one of the softened pillows, he yawned and crossed the room. Turning with one last look at the sleeping Tonks, he left into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him.

"She doesn't blame _you_, ya know." Malcolm had his back to a reading Xavier as he tentatively gripped the heated coffee cup in his hand. He let the electrifying pain of the burning nerves calm him as he spoke the truth to the silently stubborn vampire. With the steady crease of his brow and a quick blink of his eyes, he slammed the cup measurdly down onto the counter. Xavier looked angrily up at the outburst, one curved eyebrow quirking at his motives, questioning just _what_ the tempered werewolf planned to do next.

With a triumphant smirk at his anger, Malcolm sneered at him, "It won't hurt you to actually _show_ some emotion on the matter. She _cares_ about how you think of her; and she cares that you _blame_ yourself. She blames _Dumbledore_ for this pile of stinking _shit_ that's happened. And if you were _any_ more responsible, you would agree with what _she_ thinks, and help her through this as well."

Xavier narrowed his eyes, twisted his lips into one of those annoying fake smiles and turned quietly back to his book. He knew what would happen next… "You _bastard_, _listen_ to me!" Malcolm had bent over with both hands clenched into the arm of the couch, hiked his shoulders up and snarled greatly. His canines gleamed in the bare light from the kitchen where an overhead light was mounted above the far window. His eyes were dark but they shined as well, deep brown depths overflowing in anger.

"I'm listening," Xavier said, his voice tilting up when his head did not. A deep growl radiated from within Malcolm's throat. He moved forward, crouched in front of the black-clad vampire, leaned across his knees and rested his chin angrily on the lean shoulder. He could feel Xavier's hands rising to meet his chest, trying to force him away.

"She _needs_ you," he whispered roughly to him. He could hear, as he spoke, the hiss rising in Xavier's throat. "So _help_ her."

"Get away from me," the vampire murmured hoarsely. The prick of Xavier's teeth on his neck made him pull away when his voice did not. Smugly, the vampire rose, pushed Malcolm down to the floor where he landed on his ass, and walked down the hallway just as Malcolm's low chuckle resonated behind him.

—**x**—

"Mmm," Tonks groaned quietly as the pale figure seated itself next to her. She squirmed over to the depression in the bed where he sat and wrapped her hands unconsciously around his waist. The thinned, light grey shirt Xavier wore was simply bypassed as her hands slyly moved beneath it and came warm around him. He had stalked into the room, shrugged off his coat and worn black boots and padded quietly over to the bed where she laid.

A small smile, however, had claimed his rosied lips as his eyes claimed her sleeping figure. She was stretched luxuriously across the bed on her stomach. Standing up, he moved to close the curtains and in the end decided against it. The sun wasn't exactly getting on his nerves. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he stepped to the right of the bed and leaned against the headboard after he sat down. He pulled Tonks' sleeping figure to his chest. With his hands wrapped around her waist and his head resting against the darkened, stained wood of the headboard, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim his motionless, still body.

—**xi**—

With a playful smirk sliding across his lips, Malcolm inched the door open. What reached his eyes, though, was totally unexpected. For one, the curtains were actually _parted_. Xavier was a well-known enemy of the sun… or vice versa. He and the sun just _didn't_ get along; him became very touchy when he stood in the tendrils of the sun's light for too long. And it just so happened, that Malcolm liked the sun-avoiding, silent, _un_complaining Xavier a lot more than the sarcastic _jackass_ he became when he was _within _reach of the sun.

But the next thing he noticed was that Xavier held Tonks gently to him, innocently. He was asleep as well, which was a rarity when it came to seeing Xavier at all. He could be curled up with a book or just standing quietly unmoving, staring at something. But he was hardly ever asleep. Now, one pallid hand rested around her rising and falling waist and the ghostly other held hers. There was a smile on the vampire's lips, and only someone who knew him very well could know that that small gesture could be a smile and _not_ a sneer. This time, with an actual smile cradling his lips, he whispered to himself, "So what are _you_ dreaming about, Xavier?"

Turning with one last look at the sleeping two, he left into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	7. Tightened, Black Leather

_Tightened, Black Leather_

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so you may think that this specific chapter has absolutely nothing to do with the story.**

**I shall distract you! **

**German werewolf and dessert anyone?**

* * *

"Take her out somewhere."

Malcolm and Xavier stood arguing in the kitchen, or so that was what it sounded like as a bleary-eyed Tonks walked groggily down the hallway, into the bathroom, and politely slammed the door behind her. They looked up before Malcolm could reply to Xavier's persistent commands. "You just need to take her somewhere so I can be gone for the rest of the day! Come on, Malcolm. I'm doing this for her as well. I just need you to _help me_."

"Why would I do a stupid thing like that?" Malcolm remarked sarcastically. The heated expression he was granted in return for that specific remark… well, if glances could kill… he would be Malcolm, the _dead_ sarcastic werewolf.

"I just need you to _help_. Help _her_. She needs your help." Xavier paused, thinking about the night before. "So _help_ her."

With an eye roll and few seconds to let Xavier simmer and become even more annoyed, he muttered a defeated, "_Fine_." He hated when Xavier used his own _plausible_ words against him—despised it. He glared at Xavier while the vampire moved toward the sink and stared through the glass of the window. It was three in the afternoon so the eastern facing windows weren't illuminated with bright, blinding December sunlight; this only made the werewolf frown at the sun's current position. In doing so, he made a face at the turned Xavier, walked quickly out of the open kitchen, and sauntered down the hallway.

"You know, I could see you." The soft words froze in his ears, his heart gripped my some cold, unfelt hand out of nowhere. "In the window, there was a reflection, I could see you," Xavier said with a soft chuckle.

"Yeah! _So_?" Malcolm called down the hallway.

Shaking his head as he studied the snow, Xavier muttered with a soft smile, "You're so immature."

Five minutes later—Malcolm was still standing at the bathroom door listening to the pitter patter song of falling water—he looked up to see Xavier standing in the open front door. "I'll be back _when_ever, maybe six," he said with a shrug.

With a understanding nod, Malcolm said his silent goodbye, and Xavier gave the smallest hint of a smile, shutting the door behind him, shutting out the cold winter draft, and the reality of the world beyond.

—**xiii**—

The door to the bathroom squelched open to release a formidable pent up amount of floating, flittering steam. Malcolm smirked at the dripping towel-wrapped form without looking up from that day's copy of the _Daily_ _Prophet_. "You know I never see _why_ they post all this shit, it's not like anyone would be stupid enough to intentionally go to some of these places. For example, and I quote, _Just in today, Minister of Magic _scumball Roofy Doofy Grimejeer_, has put aside all _materialistic mannersas we already knew that—_and set aside a specific portion of Britain's forest and labeled them _'offlimits_ and dangerous' to the general public._"

At the word _off_-_limits_, Malcolm made disgusted face at the paper and air-quoted itwith an offended air. "_Any werewolf that has been labeled dangerous or otherwise is assigned to remain in _this_ specified area of the country on penalty of imprisonment in the Wizarding compound, _Azkaban. Hah!"Malcolm laughed at the threat, "It's not like anyone who has the slightest bit of sense would go into those forests anyway. They want to threaten people and put them in Azkaban to make it look like they're actually _doing_ something."

Rolling his eyes, he left the paper to wilt on the couch cushion as he walked into the kitchen and sat at the small table. It was set out of the way in a corner of the kitchen. While he was reading, Tonks had apparently retreated to her room to dress. She wore an obscenely bright orange, baggy shirt with a windbreaker over it for some reason.

"_Damn_, so you know we were planning to get you out of the house today?" She focused on the grain of the polished cherry wood guiltily or thoughtfully one, he couldn't tell.

"Remus is there," she said, ignoring his former question, "He won't be able to come home."

She glanced up at him for confirmation. But instead received, "Dumbledore will get him home, the Ministry doesn't have—" With a shake of her head he was silence. She gripped her hot coffee mug convulsively. The hot cocoa inside it swirled about untouched. "Tonks, the Minister is a slimy bastard who doesn't have shit on anyone. He wants to ensure everyone that he's _doing_ something, when all he's really planning on is making the outside look grand and provocative and… _safe_," he spat, "_And_ plans on saving _his_ ass to let the rest of us cave in under all the madness and destruction," he said bluntly, waving his hands about as he leaned into the chair's curve.

She gave a vigorous nod at the speech. Looking around, she didn't spot Xavier anywhere and continued to ask just where he was.

"He left." Malcolm assured simply.

"Where did he go?"

"Not sure, you know how he is, though. I sometimes don't get what is with his secretiveness at times, but you learn to live with it," he answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

_He's not telling me something_, Tonks thought quietly. "Why did he leave?" she asked, curiosity tinting her voice, staining what was a moment before emotionless and disjointed.

"That, my dear," Malcolm spoke, a glint in his deep eyes, "Is a secret." She narrowed her eyes at him but didn't push the issue further.

"Hey I got it," Malcolm said with a quick snap of his long, rough fingers. "You want to go to Diagon?"

"What? _Why_?" she asked immediately. _Why do they want to distract me? What are they up to?_ She had heard their bickering voices even in the shower. "_Take her out somewhere._" But why? She didn't even _feel_ like going anywhere. In fact, the reality of Remus' goodbye and the fact that he… said they wouldn't be together… it was all weighing heavily on her mind. She still felt sick, even though she hadn't had the chance to eat anything before slipping into silent slumber with Malcolm.

"Come on. It'll be fun. You haven't been out of the house for a week now," Malcolm said, bringing her back to life.

"Why couldn't Xavier be here to take me?" Tonks asked, not bothering to answer his invite.

Internally Malcolm frowned. He didn't care if he had a date with anyone: it didn't matter because had never cared for the presence of a woman in his life. After all, women weren't too fond of knowing that their lover was a werewolf, but now, hearing Tonks take Xavier's side over _his_ made his mind prick a little bit. The possessive side of him kept him from talking any further, and he pondered just why. After a few moments' pause, Malcolm blinked and answered rather curtly, "Xavier can't go out in public, don't you remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." Tonks resumed studying the table, remembering what the _Prophet_ had said about keeping werewolves from entering and leaving remote parts of the country. "But what about—"

"I'm from Germany, love. They don't even _know_ I'm here," Malcolm snapped quietly. "They don't even _know_, so _why_ would they care? It's not like I purposefully hunt down people and kill them. I don't look at a passing crowd, pick out the best looking one, and they end up on the evening news the new day just for my pleasure. I hunt animals, _not_ people."

"So you're here illegally," she stated quietly.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked, standing, "It would be a shame to go enjoy some ice cream _alone_." Tonks quirked her brow questioningly at that and spoke quite bluntly:

"Malcolm, it's like 32 degrees outside."

"Uh-huh. And?" Malcolm apparently didn't understand what she was pointing out.

"It's freezing."

"Yeah? _So_?" Nothing except for a shrug.

"It's in the middle of December."

"No, Tonks! I thought it was the middle of July!" Tonks' stern expression made him laugh aloud.

"It's _freezing_ outside and you want some _ice_ _cream_?"

"Well I didn't say _you_ _scream_."

"I know that, but it's _freezing_, Malcolm." What was it going to _take_ to get _that_ through his thick skull?!

"What? You want me to walk outside in my boxers or something? I _know_ it is cold outside. It's just not cold to _me_. I'm a werewolf, I'm always hot." There was a tight smirk smeared on his face.

"Is that a suggestion?" Tonks rolled her eyes at his behavior.

"The world may never know."

—**xiv**—

Tonks walked with her boots crunching melodically in the snow, her arm linked closely with Malcolm's, and… she was freezing. Malcolm stood rambling on about why it wasn't _that_ cold—32 degrees… cold enough to freeze _water_! At first Tonks had thought that Malcolm was the sane one. Yeah, she was reprocessing that one now.

She leaned into Malcolm's side a little bit more, which, in fact, he couldn't say he _didn't_ like. Shaking his head in thought, he was finally silenced at the sight of Florean Fortesque's boarded-up ice cream shop.

"Hmm, I wonder why." Tonks chirped.

"Ah well." Malcolm didn't seem too deflated as he shrugged at the final defeat, and she noticed immediately.

"Hey, how about we go over to Fred and George's and see what they've got. They should be home for holiday. And I've heard from Harry that they had some ingenious stuff."

With a nod he muttered, "Alright." They stepped quite loudly—as there was barely no one else in the ally—to the other side of the street and walked at least a block to the shop. They walked in, a cheery bell tinkling as their powdered shoes stepped upon polished wood. Plush red carpet and racks, shelves and jars of just _stuff_ opened up to them. The warmth that flew at them, however, was the first thing they noticed. Malcolm looked around quietly as a redheaded boy appeared behind the checkout counter where he had been crouched down, straightening a few boxes of… something.

"Hey, George," Tonks said with a wave. Glancing at the silent form of Malcolm, she said, "Nice, _freezing_, day isn't it."

"Tonks! Wonderful! Yeah, it is pretty cold outside. And who is… your friend here?" George hesitantly asked, walking up to shake Malcolm's warm hand. He took the boy's hand roughly as he let Tonks introduce him. "Ah, Malcolm, eh? Rare name, you must not be—"

"From around here, no. Germany," he muttered simply.

"Well then, I have a few things to rearrange. I'm sure Fred could show you around the shop, if you'd like," George said, walking back to the counter, raising his hand and waving it. "Fred! Tonks is here! She wants to see the merchandise!"

"Hang on, George! What happened to the Eye-Popping Candy Rocks?"

"All the small stuff, you see," George pointed out, "Is in the front on these shelves. But some of it is the best," he pointed out. "It's up here with me!" he called.

Soon enough, Fred appeared from behind a red curtain mounted in the back and walked toward them. He took Tonks' hand in his, dropped a kiss on it, and turned to Malcolm. All of this included an eye roll from George, who stood behind the counter watching. "Aye, mate, Fred Weasley."

"Malcolm," he replied with a brief smile. He turned to whisper in Tonks' ear. "You think they'd have anything to straighten Xavier and this secretive streak of his out?"

Tonks' eyes brightened considerably, "Oh, I'm sure."

—**xv**—

A few hours and galleons later, Malcolm and Tonks stepped through the doorway with an emblazoned purple and orange bag, a quart of vanilla ice cream, and some hot chocolate. "And what exactly do you plan to do with the hot chocolate?" Tonks asked while she walked in the doorway, the bright bag clutched in her hands as Malcolm proceeded in the kitchen.

"Oh, you'll see. Could you look at the clock, I'm afraid I'm too lazy," Malcolm asked. Rolling her eyes, Tonks looked at the clock and put the bag down. She walked over to where Malcolm stood hovering over the box of hot chocolate. They had bought the expensive box, or rather _Malcolm_ had bought it, and apparently he planned to do something either completely disastrous or angelically good with it, she didn't know.

She turned on her heel once she reached him, leaned quickly up against the counter, and glanced at the clock. Immediately the time filled her eyes with an orange glare as if the clock itself knew she was being ordered to check it. "_It'sss_…"

**6:23**

"Six twenty-three," she said thinking, _Damn, I woke up at three_, as she turned to him to see just _what_ exactly he was doing with the ice cream.

"Good, Xavier's going to be here in seven minutes. He said it would be no later than six thirty, as it gets dark early during the winter time and cold as well. So—could you bring the bag here and we'll just—"

"Wait, what was he gone for today, again? Did he tell you?"

"Bring me the bag so—"

"Malcolm, tell me. Where did he go?"

"Fine, I'll just get the bag _myself_," Malcolm grumbled as he walked across the hall and bent over the bag. Rummaging through it, he brought out a wrapped red box and tore the seal as he stood up straight and turned back to the kitchen. Tonks wasn't there. Turning to look around, he was pushed to a seated position, nails gripping at his jacket, the pressure in his shoulders making him angry. The blurred figure of Tonks stood over him, her voice and breath quickened by how much strength it had taken to force him down.

"Now, tell me _dammit_."

Malcolm snarled loudly, his eyes burning a sudden golden brown as he grasped her forearms tightly in both hands. Suddenly she was the one being pushed into the couch. His teeth showed bright from the light in the kitchen. They were sharp… each and every one of them…

"Ahem."

Malcolm looked up immediately, his eyes shining bright in the half-light. And none other than Xavier stood there, an eyebrow raised, mouth in a tight stern line as he watched Malcolm quickly push himself up from over Tonks.

Tonks' face was the etched picture of surprise and fear almost. "Go to your room, Tonks." Like a parent talking to a frightened, young child that had just been screamed at for all the wrong reasons. "Tonks," he whispered as she walked forward, head bowed, and leaned against him. His arms came around her shoulders, and he steered her left down the hallway.

They had been deaf to Malcolm storming and stomping his way down the hall, slamming the door in fury and throwing himself against it in the darkness. But what exactly had he done?

—**xvi**—

"You scared her, you know," Xavier said, his laidback form seated lightly on the couch.

At the click of her bedroom door shutting and the final tapping of Xavier's shoes on the linoleum of the kitchen floor, Malcolm had opened the door wide into the recesses of the room. He had stood frozen on the threshold, one hand rested heavily on the frame, the other seizing the door in a death-grip. He gauged the odds of Xavier being angry at him. They were slim, as Xavier was one to hide his emotions from everyone and everything.

Now he stood in the kitchen. He gazed at the floor, his head held high, "Yeah, I know."

"You like her." Xavier said it simply, threw it over his shoulder as if it held no matter of purpose. He stood at the kitchen sink now, washed out a bowl and a cup quietly, and proceeded to make some hot cocoa.

"Xavier, you _know_ I would never be able to hold down a relationship with anyone, including—"

"And that very reason keeps you from liking _any_one?" Xavier turned with the drenched cup in his hand. The two were barely an inch apart, each scent filling the others' nose.

Malcolm stumbled back as if he had been shot, "_No_, I _don't_ like her. She is Remus' and _only_ a friend to me. Even _with_ someone else, I wouldn't be able to hold down a steady relationship, not with how much we travel. No one would _want_—"

"Malcolm."

"_What_?" His voice was the high-strung definition of stressed, his widened, searching eyes hungering for something to satisfy them, anything. After a few swift moments, though, he realized that Xavier's gaze didn't rest gracefully and lazily on him. Spinning around, Malcolm blindly spotted Tonks standing in the hall. She wrung her hands many a time. Behind him, Malcolm heard Xavier turn around… so much for help from the vampire. But he found he didn't need it…

_Ping_, went the microwave, out went Malcolm's apology, and soon enough they were all seated in the sitting room. A knife could have cut through the air, it was so thick. In the silence, the very _ting_ of a pin of the floor could have been heard.

"Malcolm, you… you really _did_ scare me. That isn't going to happen again… _is_ it?" Tonks asked timidly. She stared at the swimming contents of the chocolate-covered vanilla ice cream. The bottom of the dessert bowl was lost is the complete wholeness of the heated hot chocolate. So _that_ was what Malcolm had come up with. After about five minutes of silence, Xavier had thrust the glass bowls into their hands. Marshmallows rested on the top of the ice cream, she finally noticed. But Tonks had barely touched it. If not for the few small creases in the ice cream, it would have been picture perfect.

Malcolm's bowl rested empty in the sink and Xavier's was already half-way there. She just didn't have the appetite to eat.

"It won't, no." His throaty voice summoned her from her thoughts of the desert. She hadn't even heard Xavier's words. "_That _can't _happen again_." He paused, "It won't, Tonks. I wasn't thinking. I had told you that Xavier's whereabouts today were a secret, and I don't know what happened. I—" Unnoticeably he stole a quick glance at the preserved Xavier. Malcolm sat perched in the small chair that was positioned in the corner, but Xavier was laidback somehow.

Tonks took no notice of Xavier, though. Her eyes were on Malcolm. He seemed so… vulnerable maybe?

"What overcame you?" Xavier asked quietly. He was going to get as much out of the werewolf as he possibly could, with or without Tonks sitting there across the room from Malcolm. She wasn't a weakness to him. He had never felt this way toward anyone else… so what was it?

"I don't know," Malcolm insisted.

"It had to have been something."

"Damn it, Xavier, _I_. _Don't_. _Know_." With that, Malcolm stood up from the chair, wrenched open the front door and—with a last glance at the standing two—he leapt off the unprotected porch, out into the snow, the warmth of the house a complete, simple memory as the darkness stole his figure and as with the snow, blew him away with it in the wind's howl.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	8. Satisfying Satin

_Satisfying Satin_

* * *

**A/N: This can only be interpreted one or two ways. **

**Only one is right. So choose wisely.**

* * *

Malcolm walked quietly in, the warmth of the house almost as hostile as the biting cold that was behind him. He sensed a thickness in the air that seemed to be screaming at his very existence. Xavier was angry with him. Great!

He walked down the hallway, blindly past the sitting room and the bright desolate kitchen, and stood at the door… to his left where he knew Xavier could possibly be asleep. He growled lowly, the anger stinging his throat as he opened the door. He wasn't welcome, he could sense it prickling the back of his neck. But something unexpected—

"She's been up _all_ _night_… _waiting_ for you." He could hear the stern undertone to Xavier's statement, but it was low and almost unrecognizable.

"You're angry I know, but I'm—"

"She's in the sitting room," Xavier said quietly with a turn away from the light filtering in past Malcolm's silhouetted figure. As Malcolm closed the door behind him, there was a small smile implanted on Xavier's face… if Malcolm was going to say sorry _twice_ then he really, actually meant it.

—**xviii**—

The rising sun had yet to reach over the treetops and touch the room warmly. The black leather of the two couches remained untouched and smooth and cold. The two disjointed bookshelves to his left and right were smaller than they had seemed the night before. His eyes traversed along the other coupled bookcases that partially lined the two farthest walls. Tonks, however, was not sitting beneath the large window. He was about to turn when suddenly a voice summoned him to do so.

"Malcolm." Tonks was curled into the curve of the small chair _he_ had been seated in the night before. Just as he turned to her sleepy figure, the sun winked into existence above the small hill just past her house. The line of trees beyond the hills laced the calm orange glow as it entered through the window. It had just begun to snow. And the way the sun gently touched the snowflakes in an exploring manner calmed him.

This, though, was the calm before the storm. Tonks _had_ to be mad at him.

But her pallid face did nothing but smile at him softly, timidly. From where her arms covered her chest, they reached out toward him, beckoning for him to come. As he walked quietly to her a worn, saddened child, she enveloped him, arms curling around his waist. He leaned down to shroud her shoulders with his own arms, and she quietly whispered, "I didn't know where you were. You scared me, Malcolm," she said with a tired laugh.

"You were up _all_ _night_." Malcolm pulled himself out of the embrace. Tonks was cold. He turned to one of the couches, quickly resurrecting one of the two patterened blankets that relaxed on the back of the closest one.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured with a light, exhausted nod. With troubled, shining eyes and a saddened, soft smile, Malcolm placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Mm," she buried her faced against the fabric of the blanket. He had pulled it up to her chin, but now that he thought about it…

As gracefully as he could pull off, he lifted her from the chair and carried her down the hall. She burrowed into the crease of his side. He was warm. He walked steadily over to the bed and struggled with the layers of blankets covering it. He put her to bed and smiled at the sight. She wrinkled her nose at the chill of the pillow. Leaning over her—he balanced himself while doing so—he whispered quietly in her ear.

"Goodnight, love… I'm sorry." With that he kissed her cheek and left the room.

—**xix**—

So it was eight forty-five. Or so the spastic red numbers on the alarm clock seated upon the bedside table read.

Xavier sat pensively on the bed, absorbing the meaning of time, his eyes glazed as he wandered through the dark recesses of his thoughts. He hadn't even bothered to note that the door had just announced—in quite a high-pitched tone—the arrival of none other than Malcolm.

He didn't care.

He was thinking.

He was busy…

Words—a voice—however, did make him wince out of the reverie. "Xavier, I'm—" Malcolm was cut off by his quick movement. His pale face was saddened, dark glittering eyes contrasting with the bare, emotionless light from the clock. His lips were plum in the darkness and Malcolm could make out the distinctness of a frown carved there. His eyes, though, did not study him. They were only for the blankets of the bed. He turned, flinching again at the sound of Malcolm's scratchy voice.

"I'm sorry."

"You apologized to Tonks, that's all that matters," he whispered coldly.

Grinding his teeth together made him think harder. "Xavier," he muttered dejectedly. He rudely seated himself on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. He really did not feel like fighting right now. He was tired, wanted a decent amount of sleep, and most of all wanted a warm bed all to himself. He couldn't be blamed, could he? After all, _he_ was the one who decided to walk out into a snow storm at eight o'clock at night and sleep against a pine tree.

Fucking asshole squirrels… he was going to kill every last one of those little bitching bastards. The minute cut from that pinecone above his left brow _still_ hadn't healed completely… _Dammit_.

In thought of the enemy squirrels, he ignored Xavier's slight movements and mutterings. Blinking, his focus cleared and he stared at the vampire once more.

"I'll kill you the next time you don't tell me where you're going," he stated blankly.

"Oh… well, that's nice… I can handle myself, Xavier," Malcolm said while rolling his dark eyes. They were black in the dim light, it seemed.

"You can handle yourself when a vampire attacks you in search for a decent meal, _that's_ rich." The sarcasm just dripped from his voice and created a puddle in the floor. The soft sigh that followed silenced him quietly.

"You're hungry."

"It's too cold." Xavier waved him off like an annoying fly.

Malcolm's face held the faint significance of frustration, his tightened lips in thought. "You know how werewolf bl—"

"Malcolm." Xavier's shoulders slumped forward, a position that wasn't likely to reach anyone's eyes but his own. Malcolm watched quietly, tensing his ears for any sign of words. There weren't any. The shriek that left his mouth was unnoticed only because there were fine, sharp nails _digging_ into both his shoulders. Xavier was above him, but he didn't get a chance to see his face.

And the dizziness hit him like a slap in the face. He felt no pain until Xavier bit into his flesh once more… exercising the wound, letting the blood come and well and digging even deeper after, again and again. Throughout the foggy headache he was starting to get, Malcolm felt the tickling tease of Xavier's hair on his face. His hand came to clamp around the back of the vampire neck tightly even when his bitten fingernails did nothing for him.

His breath quickened and slowly, Xavier pulled back, his bloodied, dark lips glowing in the faint light. His eyes shivered, brightened and became a deep purple—just right, like they were supposed to be.

With a purposeless, empty laugh, Malcolm said quietly, "You were… too."

"Shh."

"Xavier—I'm sorry."

"Be quiet, dammit, before you pass out." Malcolm's vision swam, Xavier was high above him, and his voice was screaming—loud—in is ears. He snarled at the thought of passing out. "Shh." He felt Xavier's smooth, chilled fingers meet his feverish, pallid face. "Shh," his voice was muffled by his cold tongue. Malcolm shivered at the contact. His neck was hot against Xavier's tongue as the blood continued to well. "Go to sleep," he finally said as his chin rested on the edge of the werewolf's shoulder.

The last time Malcolm had the chance to check, it had been…

**9:02**

—**xx**—

Xavier woke to the slow tempo of a heart. _Thump_… _thump_… _thump_. He smiled a barely noticeable smile at Malcolm's calm figure below him and left the room without word. Walking down the hall, he realized Tonks was in the kitchen; doing what, he didn't know. "I want to take you somewhere today," he said just as he reached the boundary of the kitchen.

"Where's Malcolm?" she asked thoughtfully.

"He's asleep," was the quiet reply. Tonks cast a knowing smirk at him before returning to the paper. The _Prophet's_ winding words made Xavier look away. The moving pictures and quickly scrawled articles did not suit his taste. They were mostly pointless ramblings about where the Ministry and Minister alike _weren't_ going. Xavier glanced around the kitchen. It was nearing eleven thirty. "So do you want to go?"

A shrug and then, "Yeah… I guess so."

Simply, he said, "Malcolm won't run off like that again."

"I would hope not," she muttered with a small glance in his direction.

"Well, come on then."

—**xxi**—

_Crack_! The sound fell upon deaf ears as birds fluttered away in chirping surprise. The crunching of fresh leaves under that of the soles of shoes made unknowing animals scamper away as quietly as possible. This part of the forest hadn't yet been touched by snow, unlike the rest of southern England. No, this was a little more northern, most the time it just rained here.

"Shh, you have to be quiet. This is just a meeting place." The soft voice emitted almost inaudibly from Xavier's throat. Tonks tried speaking but was silenced immediately with an impatient wave from the vampire. He walked steadily in once direction until the leaf-covered trail widened considerably. Soon enough, it ended and opened up to a grass filled clearing. There was a rock located in the near-center. Another trail led off in the same direction—farther into the forest—on the opposite side of the clearing.

"Xavier—" The vampire cast a glance in her direction. _Heh_… she thought as he cast him a _non_verbal goofy smile. She would have been a pile of ashes amongst the leaves by now. "What are we here for," she breathed. And in the next moment… she was… simply breathless. She felt tears sting her eyes unknowingly. The smile that tugged at her chapped lips didn't bother her at all as the figure patiently appeared from the brush.

_Remus_.

_Remus_. _Remus_. _Remus_. _Remus_. _Remus_. That was all she could think. Before she knew it, she had knocked him to the ground, laughing—probably maniacally to him—with tears forming in her eyes. The vision of the sky above her and the fading green of the trees made her smile even more. She was here. Alone with him. She could apologize to him, ask him to come home. She _was_ rather persistent after all. "Nymph—Mmph," but that was the _last_ thing on Earth she wanted to hear. Her lips crushing his silenced the _near _pronunciation of her name. She felt him stall at the contact. This would, of course, only make things harder for the both of them. But still he gave in… just like always.

"Nymphadora, stop. You've _got_ to _stop_." Remus could blearily see the stiff, black figure of Xavier seated politely on the rock. "Nymph—"

Xavier looked away, studying a blade of far off grass, the sway of a leaf in the barest of breezes, of the slightest movement beyond the reaches of the clearing, or the dancing leaves still clinging stubbornly to their home. He started to worry about what Remus would think. After all… werewolves were the… _possessive_ type. He smiled, but when he looked up, the smirk was washed away, like that of a gleaming shell on a beach brushed into the tide by a passing wave. He wasn't even sure if he had meant to hide his emotions.

Standing quickly just as Remus turned in the his direction, Xavier took off into the wood. He didn't care where he was going, he simply wanted to just get away. He could go back to the clearing when he wanted. Xavier stopped, testing to find out whether or not he could hear the rustling of the grass prickle his ears. Looking down, he realized that he could… _this_ would be fun.

There was a steepened outcropping of rocks that started a few feet to his left. Turning in that general direction, he blindly moved to sit on one of the lower rocks. The faint sound of… _trickling_ was it? He looked around, up, to the ground, left, right… still the sound came from… well, nowhere really. Just as he was about to give up in the search, the smell of sweetened rainwater tickled his nose. He awkwardly turned only to find that a dancing fountain was behind him, nestled in a small crevice in the rocks, the sweet water jumping off the rocks spastically and splashing into a small spring. He smirked at the sight. The overcast sky clouded the water in an unforgiving manner, but he ignored the affect. It had been the singing trickle of the water that kept him from looking up out of his thoughts. Footsteps were approaching… footsteps were approaching fast. Still, Xavier refused to look up.

He was sure Remus _would_ be out for _his_ blood in the meantime but he didn't care. Xavier had, of course, agreed to the _meeting_… if he attended and claimed witness to the event. But he couldn't take it. Shaking his head, the feel of someone's struggling hand clutching his felt jacket made him look up, disgusted at the contact. Xavier hadn't bothered to smell for Tonks at all. The water had seen to that. He pulled back slowly only to realize she was sobbing, gratefully gasping, crying, breaking down… anything that described being… _hurt_. He could sense it, _smell_ it, the emotion coming to him in pounding waves, one after another, over and over. He suddenly felt a dizzying headache overcome him as he tried to seat her onto one of the chilled rocks.

"Tonks, Tonks, _Tonks_, what happened?" Hurriedly, he saw to it that her head was pressed against his shoulder. Her hands gripped at the stitched fabric of his grayed shirt. She was trying to _choke _him! Gripping her shoulders forcefully, he pushed her away like that of a kitten trying to find reprieve by clawing your shoulder while being held in the air. She was basically helpless in his eyes.

"Remus—Remus, he—he—" She tried at least three times—if not more—to try to relay to him whatever message she wanted before Xavier gave up and pulled her to him. She melted in his arms. Her hands gripped his shirt tighter as Xavier was pulled even closer to her, the muffled, "Tonks," didn't stop her from crying anymore than his asking what had happened.

He thoughtfully assessed the situation… what a great one it was! He had never been good at comforting people… well, on a certain level, this was just…

"How about taking you home?" he muttered quietly. Tonks nodded against his chest, and—pulling her up from where they were seated—they were suddenly on the ground. The only bad thing about it… the sun was out. "Tonks… _Tonks_." He would have been never better if he hadn't been wearing that blasted thick coat. "Tonks." He tried to push up from the ground; it was only when the grass and leaves were tangled in his hair that he could see her red-rimmed eyes. He then sympathized at the sight. "Tonks, do you want to go home?"

She shook her head as she settled against his chest. With his elbows, he leaned up and tugged off his coat surprisingly faster than he thought possible. Once he had plucked the leaves from his hair, he situated the coat beneath his head and they stayed there on the ground in the warm sunlight together.

—**xxii**—

The house had been unbothered since they left. Quietly, Xavier pulled Tonks inside. "I'm going to make some coffee," she whispered to him and he walked down the hall. Peering into the darkened bedroom—yes, yes, _yes_, Malcolm had left the curtains _alone_ for once—he cheered internally, but when he didn't spot an unconscious werewolf on the bed he quickly walked to the kitchen… only he didn't make it any farther than the bathroom door.

Loud, boisterous singing erupted from the bathroom as did the sound of water against the tub. Xavier tried his hardest to hold back the laugh that was rising in the back of his throat. Silencing it as best he could, he listened quietly to the cacophony. So Malcolm was _singing_ in the _shower_? Xavier heard the werewolf pause at the quieted sounds of his mirth. The water was silenced a few moments after. Xavier relaxed against the outer doorframe. He would wait—

Just then the door swung back to reveal a dripping, humming werewolf. The shock on his face as he opened his eyes and closed the door made Xavier double over in laughter. "I almost forget to tell you, Malcolm," he called through his laughter, "We're back in case you didn't notice."

He fell forward against the shirtless werewolf before he could stand as the door gave in. Malcolm had quickly tugged on a pair of dark blue jeans. His face was stern as Xavier backed against the wall, the smirk plastered on his face by super glue. "So what were you singing, eh?" he asked through breathy laughter. Malcolm sent him a burning glare while he walked into the kitchen.

"What was he doing?" Tonks called from her seat on the counter. She had situated herself next to the coffee maker as she awaited the final burbling sound of the coffee's completion. Jumping down she poured the coffee into three separate mugs—she had made enough for three by far—turned the maker off, and handed them out.

With his mug in hand, Xavier muttered, "Singing in the shower."

Tonks was finally able to bring it down to a low giggle as Malcolm said, "I wouldn't have been singing if I had known you two weren't—"

"Ah, so you _do_ admit to singing!" Xavier triumphed, hiding his smile behind the cup. He was guessing Malcolm would be apt to throw his own across the kitchen table from where he sat and right smack into the vampire's head. And he didn't want that… so… he shut up… quite quickly to say the least. Malcolm was thankful for the unobstructed silence.

Judging by the distributed glances between the two, Xavier and Tonks, he decided that things had gone well with this "_meeting_" the vampire had planned. And in doing so, the decision appeared in his question, "So did… everything go well?" Tonks paled at the words. Xavier's quick glare at the werewolf shut him up. "Apparently not," he muttered to himself as he looked down into the swirling coffee.

Tonks had quickly disappeared into the bathroom. Xavier stood struck in the hallway. His turned to Malcolm. The werewolf looked up at the stillness of the figure. "Good job," he said quickly, sitting down.

"So things didn't go well?"

"You. Would. _Think_," Xavier murmured. He leaned against his hand, knocking his elbow on the table as he did. He didn't wince nor announce the pain, just sighed.

"Xav—" Malcolm began.

"Not now, Malcolm. _Please_." He sat there, massaging his probably aching head. His hair fell in front of his face, black locks gleaming in the far light from the window. It was five already? Malcolm wondered as he glanced at the clock and back at Xavier. The vampire's eyes were closed and he had a slightly unpleased look about his eyes. His lips were tight, parallel with the surface of the table. His pale complexion shone brightly against the darkened wood of the table.

Malcolm pushed himself up, forced himself to look away as he walked out of the kitchen.

Tonks was still vomiting in the bathroom. It had been five minutes.

Malcolm peered into the kitchen. Her mug of coffee sat unbothered on the counter. He dismissed his half-emptied one the moment the bathroom door opened. Tonks could have been anything but okay. Hell, he could have called her green and sickly or yellow and disgusted and that would have fit the color and emotion splattered about her face. Her shirt had been bright in the kitchen but now it hung limply from her body, a dulled morose blue. Her face was stricken and tight, her eyes blank, unseeing.

Damn… Malcolm inwardly cursed himself: dumbass, idiot, stupid, rude. He took her hand and led her across the hall into the sitting room. There he sat against the couch. She obliged and seated herself as well. "Come here." He opened his arms and she disappeared against his side. "Shh… I'm sorry. You can tell me when you're ready… It's okay. _It's_ okay. It's _okay_." He said it like a spell, again and again so that it would be true.

He jerked the blanket settled over the back of the leather sofa and threw it over the both of them. Together they sat there: Malcolm leaned into the side of the couch while Tonks rested her head against his chest. Malcolm brought his right hand up and stroked her hair, her face, her arms. Like that they stayed, calmly embraced.

—**xxiii**—

Night had fallen hours ago and Xavier _still_ couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the fact that the moon was full… He hunted once a month and only once a month. Human blood, by far, was much better than an animal's, and so he had reduced his hunting time to two nights a month. The blood Malcolm had allowed him would have sustained him for weeks. So he didn't know, really, what the problem was… insomnia maybe? But his back and head hurt, his legs and arms wouldn't fucking relax long enough for him to fall asleep, the muscles in his neck were too damn tight… those were all the usual symptoms of hunger… the "_baseball_ _bat_" feeling… but he just couldn't _sleep_.

Turning once more, he laid on his right side to the maximum time… five minutes. Again he was left to stare at the ceiling. Another fucked up sleepless night. Malcolm wasn't here to tell him to shut up and go back to sleep. By then he would have just laughed and curled into the blankets and the warmth the werewolf supplied. Malcolm was…

Xavier pushed himself up from the bed and left the room. As he did so he took in the clock as it buzzed the announcement of two fifty-nine a.m.… _Dammit_.

The door closed behind him quietly as he pulled at the knob. Xavier padded down the hall, feet wrapped in a pair of white socks that happened to be visible through the darkness. A few minutes later he left the bathroom. With the door slightly ajar, his eyes searched the contours of the sitting room… He smiled at the sight. Malcolm had—at some point—moved to lie down on the couch instead of _sit_. Tonks was curled against his chest, her hand folded in between one of his own. They slept quietly as he stepped into the kitchen. The mugs of coffee were still there. He laughed at those, too, out of partial exhaustion.

He searched the sky. The moon should be somewhere in the _west_… as his eyes found the blurred ornament, he turned. Once again he was faced with the sleeping sight of the two. They stayed, wrapped in a blanket, safe together. With a contented sigh, he wandered back to the bedroom. The clock was transfixed on a red, complete:

**3:00**

With a last defeated sigh, he leaned back into the bed's embrace and sleep took him without hesitance.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	9. Frightfully Fleecing

_Frightfully Fleecing_

* * *

**A/N: I would again like to thank the reviewers**

**girl-bluexXxheart-torn, ReviewsGalore, Belladonna, R.L.N.Tonks, Akiray, and Natasha  
**

**Chapter's important… for ****future**** reference.**

**

* * *

**Xavier woke two hours later to the wailing of the alarm clock on his right. He had tossed and turned, he could tell. His muscles hadn't given a damn about relaxing and every one of them was stretched. He was amazed he could still move.

Dizziness struck him immediately. He didn't have time to shut the cursed alarm clock up. Closing his eyes against the reprimanding blare from the blinking numbers, he fell into darkness, losing feeling of everything, his arms, legs, down to his toes and fingertips. The soft sheets beneath him were a damned memory.

—**xxv**—

And so were Malcolm's. He was pulled down deep into unconsciousness. He had been dreaming, yeah, but he didn't care to _remember_ what he was dreaming. And he soon figured out why he hadn't. The dream he had been having left him tossing and turning in his sleep… The dream had been recurrences of Malcolm's _memories_.

A small figure huddled against a corner right in front of him. The sounds of gruesome shrieks, sickening thuds filled the air. Xavier could only wonder what _this_ one was about. He had remembered Malcolm shuddering beneath him earlier that night at the sights, as he drank his blood. The shadowed darkness that softly touched the body was pulled away quickly. Malcolm hailed a bleeding, cut lip and welling, red rimmed eyes overflowing with un-cried tears. There were shadows draped across the paneling on the walls, and only Malcolm could see what they really were. Suddenly, Xavier was the scared child hiding in the corner.

Xavier could feel every part of his body grow numb and cold. The bruises that marked Malcolm's body only made the vampire whimper more. He hadn't even realized what he was doing. He could feel Malcolm crying at the fact the screaming was all about him. The sickening sight of two people standing silhouetted in front of a blank white window only made things worse. He couldn't see the facial expressions… the voices filled in everything for him.

A woman's first, "_He's my _son!" And then another… a man's.

"_He's a _monster_, goddamn_ _you_!" A hand rose with the man's voice and flew through the air, striking its target just like it was supposed to. Xavier didn't try to move at all. He couldn't change the past, just look at it through Malcolm's eyes. He felt the small boy shudder involuntarily against the cold. Damn… Malcolm always made a big deal about _loving_ the cold, about the feelings it blocked out, how it simply numbed your hands and forgave you for feeling anything at all. It was a sedative, a numbing solution. And he claimed he _loved_ it.

In slow motion, it came. The body wasn't lit until the face struck the floor. A light off behind him to his left covered the face and glazed the eyes that were staring at him. He couldn't believe the sight. Malcolm had always said his mother had died of cancer… not…

She laid still on the floor, her neck broken, and her last words just mere blossoms on her reddened lips… left silent by death, who stole them away at the last second. "Malcolm_, you fucking—_Come 'ere!" Xavier felt the scream build up in his throat. Malcolm tried his hardest to jump up from his crouched position. His weakened muscles wouldn't, however, allow such movement. He was hauled up from the ground by the arm… the course green carpet was miles away from him as he looked down. Xavier was still sheltered against the paneled wall. Malcolm was far above him, wailing, screaming. He couldn't have been… five or six… and still the swaying figure of his father purposely beat him until he was trembling and nearing unconsciousness.

His only restraint from being free was the strong hand holding him up by the wrist. The balled fist his father claimed as a weapon struck many places. Several times Malcolm was slugged in the gut, against his face on either side, and—when he tried to resist the oncoming blows—he would twist and turn and receive at least a couple broken ribs. He was released and left motionless on the floor. He struggled to raise his hand. Once he did, it was outstretched toward Xavier as he sat, silent, watching, struck. Malcolm inhaled painfully. The vampire could see his lip shaking in unrequited fear, his eyes blinking away unwanted tears. If only he could move… if only he could get away from his father—

That wish was kicked away just as Malcolm was. He didn't even try to scream. The wind was knocked out of him by his father's right foot, settled inside a hunting boot. Too bad they were steel-toed. Malcolm's face crumbled by the third blow. It was then he closed his eyes and gave into whatever was there for him to hide behind. His father meaninglessly struck his son five more times and left the room, hopefully never to come back.

—**xxvi**—

Now he found himself seated in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs… the ones you tossed and turned in to no avail. Xavier, though, just crossed his legs and let the scene unfold. A beaten up corpse—it seemed—entered his vision. It took him a few moments to realize it was Malcolm. And he was awake. He looked longingly at the door. Ignorant people, overwhelmed visitors, harried nurses, hurried doctors, walked past his room without even the slightest of glances. The broken look that was patterned across his face made Xavier long to reach out and take him in his arms. But he couldn't, just share his pain.

It _was_ a memory after all.

No one entered the room. All the while, Malcolm numbly sat up, staring at the wall across from him. Pallid light filtered in between the vertical blinds. Maybe that was what he wanted… to be outside away from this place. Suddenly three people appeared from the hallway, and they were on Malcolm in seconds. A doctor's cold, whitened hand held Malcolm against the bed; two nurses stared coldly down their noses at his writhing figure. The needle had just pierced his skin and soon… he fell. He fell into silent dreamless sleep. It was then that darkness settled amongst the room and curled its tendrils around Xavier.

—**xxvii**—

Xavier was wandering through a dappled forest, dying, various colored leaves filtering all around him in the breeze. He found that someone was to his left as he stepped pensively through the woods. This was another memory, huh… He found a thirteen year old seated in front of a whispering stream. The only thing Malcolm did, he realized as he maneuvered carefully through the trees, was sit staring at the water. More leaves fluttered down from the branches and ripped away the little reflection that had pooled there in front of him. He looked away and then up at Xavier's figure. He couldn't see him… could he?

"_What do you want?_" Xavier moved beside Malcolm and saw who he was talking to. The young werewolf had gone rigid with either adrenaline or uneasiness… Xavier was sure it was both.

The rough figure of Fenrir Greyback fell into place, like water into a glass. He was much younger, of course. His hair was cropped, still grey, and he held a toothpick between his teeth, a smirk sketched around the small piece of wood. There was a prickle of shadow around his chin and mouth. He smirked harder this time at Malcolm's tense figure. "_You know exactly what I want._"

"_You didn't bite me, so you have no reason at all to want me to join you_," Malcolm spat. His curled blonde hair fell against his shoulders. There was no sign of age within his face at all… except for his eyes. His eyes were the darkest of brown. They could have been black if Xavier hadn't seen them before. But they were worn, empty. They didn't hold the light from the sky above even when the werewolf looked up. He looked so tired of the world, of everything. Xavier felt pity sting the very center of his heart. Why hadn't Malcolm bothered to tell him at all about his childhood? He would have listened, consoled him even. Maybe the werewolf had just shrugged it all away and forgave the world for doing this to him.

He had lost his parents already… and now entered Greyback, who stood silent against the backdrop of forest surrounding them. "_I _will_ kill you, boy_."

"_DON'T TOUCH ME_!" Malcolm snarled at the jerk of Greyback's hand on his shoulder. He stood rigid and balanced on the ground in front of the man. He stood no chance at—

"_ALRIGHT, BOY_," Greyback paused. "_If that's how you want it_," he said in a frightfully dead voice. In one moment he was just standing there, his face darkened and turned toward the ground, the next, fangs had erupted where just teeth had been. The toothpick was left unbothered on the ground, spattered now by blood. Malcolm was on kneeling on the ground, leaning heavily on his muscle-toned arms. His legs were tight behind him, his eyes deliberately glimmering a bright brown as he glanced upward at Greyback. Or at least that's what color Xavier had seen.

With the swift movement of claws against flesh, Greyback was left doubled over in quiet, meaningless mirth. He looked up—covered in blood from the three gashes carved into his face—at Malcolm's trembling figure towering above him. Xavier could only wonder what in the hell was going on between these two.

"_If you come with me, I'll teach you how to control it. Can you feel your power slipping away with that monster? You don't need the moon, son,_"Greyback said with a slight sigh in his voice."_No, you'll never need the moon. If you come with me, I'll show you. I'll show you—_"

"_How to kill people, yeah, no thanks._" Malcolm spat on the ground at Greyback's feet.

Greyback shook his head in mid-laugh, "_If_ _you don't learn how to control it now_…" He laughed again, "_You never will_."

—**xxviii**—

"_Okay, Lia, are you ready_?" The tree-filled scene immediately disappeared. Instead, voices filled in the darkened space.

"_No, give me a minute, Malcolm, and I will be_." The lightened, dry tones of a woman's voice entered the very hollow of his mind as well as breathy laughter… who in the world—

Suddenly the scene opened up. There was a house standing in front of him, familiar, with dark wood panels etching out the very remnants of an open door. A girl as well was in front of him… The shortened sounds of breath came as he stepped back from Malcolm's body. So this was another of his memories? Probably one that hadn't been _voluntarily_ shared with him… of course it was. He stepped back. Malcolm had taken the girl in his arms as if they were at a wedding, bride and groom style, and stepped across the threshold. Xavier followed. There was a comfortable, cozy room awaiting them. Lit with lamps all around, there was an inviting sitting room that collided right into the front hall. This was the cabin Malcolm had lived in… Xavier had just never been inside.

He had followed the couple to the right where they had gathered around the fire that was in front of the ground couches. They were red leather brought together by a dark, emerald carpet sheltered beneath a stout table in front of the two. Malcolm was still shrouded amongst that oversize jacket of his… only it wasn't darkened like it had been the last time Xavier had seen the werewolf. It was a brightly colored hide against his body. He must have been twenty-two here.

Xavier took the time now to study the woman. She was relatively tall with waist-length beautiful blonde hair curling and cuddling her shoulders. Her hands were long, white, artfully sculpted in her lap. Malcolm took them in his. He was saying something, but it was whispered in her ear. Her pale face resorted to a tinted pink after what he said. She looked up, right through Xavier, to a corner of the room. Quickly, Xavier looked where she had been staring, but not without studying her eyes first. Pepper, is what he could have called them. They were outlined in solid black, a thick lined ring entranced by clear grey. Beautiful, intricate, unique.

She rose from the couch, leaving Malcolm forgotten there where he sat. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out. "_You're surprised_." Xavier had turned suddenly from the crowded corner to the origin of the voice, Malcolm's voice.

"_I'm _breathtaken!"

"_Don't be an _arse_, Lia Breedlove. You're worse than I am_." A smirk played around the werewolf's tanned face.

"_It's your fault. You're just as dry, and sarcastic, and as much of an ass as I am. And it's Lia _Halloway_ to you_." She held him at arms length, her hair falling down her curved slender figure, the merry fire in front of them lining the contours of both faces. Malcolm was so happy, Xavier saw. Lia was turned away from him, jeans and shirt hugging her figure in the half light… Lia… Lia, he shook his head at the empty void his mind was supplying him. Malcolm had barely even _shared_—if that's what he called it—his past.

The shared a chaste kiss before the scene dissolved completely into one of massive destruction and confusion. The lone whispers left behind. "_I love you_."

—**xxix**—

"_NO_!" The widened eyes that flared in front of him made him fall back in sheer surprise. Xavier viewed the forest around him and Malcolm's ripping body in front of him. The moon hesitantly touched the trees within its reach. Shadows that sluggishly stole to the roots of the huge overgrown trees, however, refused to be touched by the moon's beams.

"_MALCOLM_!" The simple shrillness of the shriek made Xavier look right to the one it was directed to. Malcolm was hunched over in the grass in the moon's light… he gripped convulsively at the blades beneath him. The black shirt that clung tightly around his muscled frame was tearing away from his body. He threw his upper body away from the ground. His hands were curled away from him, blackened claws pinning beneath his fingernails, his head upturned toward the sky in mid-scream… no… he couldn't be…

His ribs were cracking beneath his taut skin. Every pore was trembling with beads of sweat… yes, yes, he was losing control. Malcolm opened his eyes to the sky, golden brown glaring at a navy-blue silken canvas. The moon was hung high without any stars crowning it in that said canvas, laughing mercilessly as Malcolm's rocking, tortured figure. Every muscle in his abdomen had tightened and stretched. His abs had been combed over with the finest of bristling fur. His teeth were gleaming with hunger in the light, a snarl a mere few seconds from his lips.

"_Malcolm, NO_!" Xavier turned in search for the owner of the voice. Lia… It was Lia. _Where_ was Lia? Malcolm was still kneeling amongst the dewed grass. His form was gathered on the ground. He whined profusely until the scent… a scent. Xavier could smell it… this was Malcolm's memory. He may have not been able to control himself during this moon, but he damn sure had remembered it. Blood. Blood. Someone was bleeding. But Where? Where? He had to extinguish that scent. Kill it… ruin it… make it all his…

A figure rushed onto the scene.

Muscles tightened from the rushing adrenaline, Lia emerged breathless and wide-eyed from the brush, one of her upper arms slashed to shreds, her neck bleeding from an open gash. Her eyes were hysterical almost, but her voice was calm, soft, breathless for Malcolm's ears. "_It's_ _okay_." He rose from the ground… everything was happening in a true slow motion affect. Xavier saw the clouded figure in front of himself… directly in front of himself… moving, tensing with every muscle… musky and just there for the taking…

"NOOO!" A snarl tore through the air, ripping every tendon of reality, smashing to pieces the silence that had reined there for the shortest of seconds. Trees opened themselves out to Xavier, but he stood there still, alone in the clearing. The moon's rays of fake, stale light left him alone to wander through the forest. Malcolm was gone… Lia was gone… And Xavier was alone as he dropped to his knees in silent shock… Malcolm's lover… Lia… dead at his own hand…

—**xxx**—

The sights of several masquerading, cloaked figures bent and supple around him were unbothered, left unnoticed because of the dark veil that had covered _him_. Several sounds bounced from the walls. A darkened cave environment filed out in front of him. The drip, drip, dripping of water from an above ground spring rang nearby somewhere off to his left. The clapping of feet dancing practically on the ground was a song to his ears. He just didn't understand why he was here.

His feet took him nowhere, but the memory that served him now did. The bright faded light exploded in his vision. For a moment he couldn't see. And then—

The screams penetrating the air were unbearable. They were strong and weak at the same time. A trapped sound, withering, whimpering pleads left unsaid by the smack of… a whip… something… sharp and merciless. Strong because of the defiance the voice held when the screams fell and dripped off the walls with the rest of the cold, dead water.

"_I'll _never—" Another scream and the breathless voice had been sentenced to the minimal whimpering once again. Xavier stepped through the throng he stood amongst and there… Malcolm. Torn—beaten. Helpless—weak. Prey—caught. His eyes glowed dismally bright against the swollen gash that had been etched deeply into his cheek… that was where it had come from. That scar, the scar that Xavier had spent many nights just studying it, retracing it, wondering what could have caused such an obscene mark… Now. Now he knew. He knew everything, but—with his eyes staring blindly and unseeing the ground somewhere to his left, he refused to let it all sink in. He closed his eyes once more at a burst of bright light.

The reason for this! What was it? Why? To Malcolm… of all people? He didn't want to know. But the next words… they answered the question for him.

"_My brothers! This piece of _disgusting, patronizing filth—" The voice's owner stood silhouetted in front of a blazing blue fire, his arms outstretched, his hands opened to the heavens and rose as if he controlled the flame himself. Malcolm was behind him… He had been hung in front of a large overhanging archway. His arms were tied above him, and he looked like a four pointed star with his hand bowed. His knees rested defeated, useless, against the ground. His shirt was reduced to shreds, and… Xavier now took notice of the man to Malcolm's left. He held a whip in his hand and a smirk on his face. Teeth gleaming in the building blaze showed his pointless, quiet mirth.

The shadowed figure gave some sort of signal. The whip was raised and ready. Glimmering silver spikes sneered menacingly from the air where they were engraved into the leather strand of the whip. No… no, no, no.

"_This degrading piece of_ filth _is simply the most worthless disgrace I have ever laid eyes on in my life._" Several cheers arose from the crowd around Xavier… they couldn't be… but with that last though of no, no, no… the whip had struck its target.

"AHHH!" Malcolm struggled desperately against his binds, his body wriggling and writhing with the pain. His chest heaved with need breath, but he claimed none as the torturing continued. The spikes had collided Malcolm's flesh and there they stayed. The whip-bearer tried to pluck the leather from the werewolf's flesh, jerking hard on the whip and in turn receiving only laughter at the attempt and another ragged scream from Malcolm. Xavier's hands trembled. He could feel the pain, right across the upper part back. He could feel it spread fast, numb and come back in a sharp wave… over and over.

Through the cave wandered another terrible scream and the whip was embedded across Malcolm's chest now. A jerk and there was blood spattering across the werewolf's abdomen. Wide-eyed, Malcolm coughed—retched—stared at the ground. Once again the whip met his back with a horrendous _squelch_. And there came another wordless cry of agony. It was moments later Xavier found _himself_ staring into the blue flames and saw the man standing there. He had turned toward Malcolm with an evil smirk on his face, his eyes glaring with a maniacal golden yellow that effortlessly overflowed their depths. With another pitiless smirk, the man shook his head. Xavier listened to his words.

"_You had a choice. Well all _always_ have a choice to do what is right_…_ and you didn't join me. It's _your_ fault she is dead. And now you'll never learn how to control it,_ boy." His lowered voice supported an evil, cold chuckle as he laughed. Before speaking again, the glint of a toothpick between the man's lips shuddered just as Xavier did. "_It's all._ _Your. Fault._"

And Greyback's figure was devoured by the fire as the scene slipped away with Malcolm's consciousness.

—**xxxi**—

Xavier bolted from the bed as if a thousand volts had just coursed through his body. His muscles were still tight. Sleep was a useless thought as he ran from the room. As soon as he reached the end of the hallway, he slowed to a crawl. Malcolm and Tonks were still asleep. He could only cast the beginnings of a very minute smile to them as he stepped over to the settee. It was there he crouched in front of the sleeping two.

Damn did he regret biting Malcolm now… all those memories. He was beyond confusion. It had turned more likely to shock and the tiniest bit of pity and anger: pity for the all the wrong that had been done to him… anger because it was never shared with him or anyone else. The shock, now, was the one thing that _haunted_ him. Why? Greyback had nothing against Malcolm. He hadn't even been the one to bite him. As far as Xavier knew, Malcolm had been born a werewolf… only, wait he forgot, _that_, too, could have been a little on stretched side of the truth.

But Malcolm _had_ shared his past with him. He had been the one to offer his blood… so it was his fault. All his fault… He shook his head. Greyback, that bastard… "Malcolm."

The werewolf's sleep-drawn, deep brown eyes rested on the speechless vampire. Xavier's face was etched out of thought and grief as he studied Malcolm's face. "You didn't tell me." He lowered his chin as he looked up at Malcolm.

Slowly, Malcolm could see the pain tugging at Xavier's lips. Exhaling deeply, Malcolm sat up and carefully, gently placed Tonks next to him as he perched on the edge of the sofa. Stretching, he suddenly jerked Xavier chin up. "I _wanted_ to tell you—I just didn't know _how_." Xavier bared his teeth rudely as he spoke, but Malcolm ignored him, "And you got both of the things you needed, blood and my memories. Happy now?" As he finished, Xavier jerked away from the werewolf's firm grip.

"Who was that? That girl, who was she?"

Malcolm paled at the words. It was three minutes later until he decided to bow his head and speak. "She was my love."

"I know that, but who was she—"

"She was part of my pack… when I started to travel around Europe. She despised Greyback and refused to join him… just as I did," he added with an empty laugh. "It was in one of his training camps… that we met. It was a month later when we ran away from the camp and decided to marry." He studied the floor for a moment and looked up as he said, "We were planning to have kids, you know. We loved each other that much." Tears had begun to form in his eyes, but he stubbornly held them back, "And it's my fault that she's dead."

"Don't you dare believe that lying bastard!" Xavier muttered dangerously.

"He _right_, Xavier… He's _always_ been right about me. He _knew_ I was going to kill her, that's why he never sent other werewolves to force us back into the camp. That asshole _knew_ she was going to die," he said once again. The tears he had been holding back fell one by one and into the carpet they soaked. "And I _refuse_ to let anything happen to _her_." Xavier looked up at the words. Malcolm turned to Tonks, gripping his hand in hers. Her pale face were buried against his leg, a small smile was painted onto her pale face. "I refuse, Xavier."

The vampire smiled softly, "You know neither of us would let something like that happen."

"But it almost did."

Malcolm's voice was low as Xavier recalled what he was talking about… the night he had walked in, Malcolm was… no, he hadn't lost control—he never had. "But it didn't. _Almost_, yes, but it _didn't_ _happen_."

"I love her, Xavier," Malcolm whispered quietly.

"And because of that love, you won't let anything happen to her. You _know_ that, Malcolm. You've never lost control before. You're _nothing_ like that sadistic bastard." Xavier pressed on.

"It doesn't feel that way."

Xavier stood up and walked into the kitchen. It was there he brewed a cup of coffee. Several minutes later he was seated at the kitchen table, turned away from Malcolm with his coffee mug in hand as he sat leaning over the table, defeated. He looked up at the clock as he said, "It'll never be that way. You're too _stubborn_ to lose control."

Malcolm said with a laugh, "Don't be an arse."

"I get it from you," Xavier smirked. He could see it as the vampire's head was still turned to the opposite wall, his eyes wandering everywhere else _but_ the clock. Malcolm stood up and sauntered over to the table. With a slight, dry smile on his lips, he plopped down into the chair across from Xavier. Leaning back into the chair he muttered.

"Then it's _stubborn_ arse to _you_."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	10. Damning Corduroy

_Damning_ _Corduroy_

* * *

**A/N: Anyone confused yet? (I will reply to all reviews.) **

**And here is the answer you've all been waiting for… **

_**21st **__**Fox**_** Presents… Drum Roll please…**

* * *

Tonks awoke to the smell of… breakfast and something delightfully musty. Remus?

No.

When she buried her head into the softness beneath her cheek, she was greeted with a deep chuckle. Opening her eyes, she was glad to see Malcolm looking down at her. She grinned sheepishly and leaned up. He had been sitting at the farthest end of the sofa while she lay sprawled out and in his lap.

She looked up, and Malcolm laughed again. "What?" She looked up sternly at him.

"You should see your hair." He playfully ran his hand through it. "Bed-head." She stuck her tongue out at him as she got up. Xavier stood watching them as he leaned against the counter. There was a popping pan of bacon and another that was filled with… chocolate-chip… pancakes. _Yum!_ she thought as she walked into the bathroom.

The laughter that echoed down the hall made Malcolm stand up. "What?"

"You're right," Tonks said as she struggled to brush her hair. "I look horrible."

Malcolm studied her hands as they worked before saying, "Well, I think you look cute." Tonks looked up at him in the mirror. The small smile on his face couldn't have been truer. But—

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes.

"No really." He leaned forward, his breath on her neck. She paused slightly. His tongue was on her neck, "You look ravishing." Tonks could feel the smile on her skin. He stepped back and pushed himself against the frame of the door.

"And you look like you're lying," she muttered through a small bout of breathy laughter. He pulled a fake offended face with one hand placed on his chest as he walked out of the bathroom. There in the pallid blue light of the bathroom, she stopped brushing her hopeless mop of hair and paused. With her eyes dow n-turned she smiled with a small huff. _Malcolm…_

—**xxxiii**—

"What is it?" Xavier turned to Malcolm as he leaned against the counter casually. "Wh—" _Pop_! "Ow, _shit_! Malcolm! _What_?"

"Nothing."

Malcolm had leaned against the vampire, his arm resting on Xavier's shoulder casually. Xavier was still rubbing hard at the burn from the grease. "I know that look… What do you want?" Xavier muttered as he turned to the pancakes. Three filled plates later he looked up at Malcolm. "What?"

"Nothing. I just had an idea that's all…" Malcolm said as he walked away, brow raised with a sneaky smirk covering his face. He tapped his temple twice before proceeding down the hallway. Xavier stood confused in the kitchen. With the werewolf's footsteps came the sound of a closing door. Heaving a sigh, Xavier turned to the stove, switched it off and carried himself over to the table. It was there with a full plate the he mulled over two doused pancakes and several pieces of bacon. Come to think of it now… he wasn't hungry. Closing his eyes, his ran his thumb and forefinger over his brow and inaudibly sighed.

After seventy-five percent of the food on his plate disappeared, he rose in the faded light of the kitchen. With his eyes averted, his turned quickly to the hallway. Looking up, Tonks' silent figure stood sudden, wary and still in his gaze. "Where'd Malcolm go?"

"Crazy?" Xavier asked quietly. He was granted a small smile in return while he walked past her and seated himself on the farthest couch. Tonks still watched him from the hallway. "What?" Her face was down-turned, and when she looked up, he saw the tears that stained her face. "Tonks?" He immediately stood up. Taking her in his arms once he reached her, Xavier looked down to study her face. Tonks' eyes were still lowered to the floor. "What is it?" he insisted.

She defiantly shook her head. "Tonks—"

"I don't want to talk about it… I just want to go to sleep." Xavier paused as she stopped whispering.

"What happened the other day, between you and Remus… please, tell me," he said softly.

She shook her head hopelessly, "I don't want to talk about it, Xavier."

"What's wrong?"

Malcolm was motionless in the hallway, his hand still pausing on the doorknob of open bedroom door. He stood twisted to look at the two. Hurrying down the hall, he asked once more, "What's wrong?" Tonks shook her head at his presence. Malcolm glanced adamantly at Xavier. Lowering his chin, the vampire calmly grasped her elbows and led her to the closest settee. It was there he knelt in front of her. Malcolm's voice came from behind him. "I can't help you unless you help me. Now tell Xavier what happened, love."

She swallowed hard and cast a pleading—imploring—helpless look to the vampire. Xavier glanced once to the carpet, pulled her from the couch and let her practically strangle him. She held tightly to his neck, her arms wrapped solely for comfort. He brought her down to the carpet. It was there she closed her eyes fearfully. "This won't hurt," Xavier whispered calmly to her. Tonks inaudibly nodded. She shivered as he let his lips rest on the edge of her neck. Xavier passed his tongue over the rhythm of her heartbeat and dove in.

The last thing she remembered wholly was the prickle of his teeth sinking into her throat.

—**xxxiv**—

Xavier was sickened at the lunge springing up in his stomach like an alarm once the sweetness of Tonks blood poisoned his lips. He was brought to a lurching state of nausea as the memories flooded in a tidal wave toward him. He was thwarted by the sounds of a small giggling girl, screams of frightened people all around and everywhere—for he turned his head everywhere to keep sight of them, panicked and running, scattering and shouting—sights of masked Death Eaters, all of which cast sparking green jets of the breath of death inches from his face—and then suddenly the burn of tears on his face as the one and only Remus Lupin stood before him. The stinging of the tears was pulled away like that of a sticking papier-mâché mask glued to his face.

He saw suddenly the flood of forest being pulled from a magician's hat in the back of his mind, the blackness from which he had stepped forth from. It made his stomach turn, stir. He wanted so badly to punch the man who now stood before the weeping, doubled over figure of Tonks, but it was useless. It was in the past. It was behind her, and he hadn't been there. He had been caught up in the innocence of a trickling fountain and all the while he had let his thoughts cloud his could-have-been-actions of preventing Tonks' world from falling around her in a mass of destruction.

Remus tried to take her hand, but she jerked hard… too hard for that matter. She landed in a heap on the ground, sobbing without holding back her emotions. He looked at her pitiful appearance. His face was crumbling slowly. Her tears were washing away his resolve, but in the last second…

Remus averted his eyes from her body, motionless. The gleam in them had disappeared as well as the moment. "_Why are you doing this_? _You_ know _there is no way we can be together, Dora_."

With ragged, jagged breathing, she tried answering him. The hysterical shards of glass pricked her throat… she couldn't breathe, but she tried at it all the same. "_I—I—I l-love—I love y-you_," she gasped.

"_And I know that, but that doesn't matter. I'm trying to keep you from harming yourself with your feelings. And that's exactly what you're doing right now. I can't help you unless you help yourself_—"

"_Don't—Don't g-give me that b-bullshit! Y-your answer is better than this f-fucking—awkward—silence! Just tell me h-how you—feel, d—damn it_." Tonks struggled with her bearings and words. She didn't even pause to choose them, and they fell at his feet, pitiful and bare just like her stripped, naked voice.

"_Tell me_," she implored softly this time. "Now."

"_I_—" Remus tried hard not to let himself fail at her, her intentions and what she was doing to him now.

Her hands were slinking closer and closer beneath the worn, faded, corduroy jacket he wore.

They were making their way closer and closer, to the edge of his faded black shirt where they paused for his answer. That's where she was… on the very edge. Both pairs of their hands, however, were useless and unbothered at their sides. Tonks made no move to get closer to him, to stand up from her undignified position, and Remus made no move to help her. She just wanted an answer… Give her one, dammit, you old _cowardly_, fool! he thought. And so he did… stumbling over his words, he came…

"_I—I feel as if I can't love you—any more than a friend_," he added quickly to reverse the open-mouthed silence she was tossing hard at him. He felt the pressure at his head again, the stress was pulling the strings inside him. Something was wailing loudly within his conscious, tell him everything was wrong, a growl was piercing his throat. The burn of acid on his tongue was forced back down by those last words…

"_But there are others, Tonks_. _You've_ got_ to understand that_._ Malcolm for instance_…" Tonks looked wounded, hurt, up at him. He glanced around, searching for any answers hidden stealthily among the brush and dancing among the leaves clinging defiantly to the hushed trees' branches. He found no reprieve and still, he continued.

"_He's whole_…" Remus' breath was lost on the stirring of the wind's own breath. The words were lost… "_He's perfect for you_…"

"_And _he's_ a werewolf. What does that make you_?" Tonks said loudly. Bitterly, she spat on his shoes, "_Say_? _What does that make _you_, eh_? _Useless_? _Old_? _A_ coward?"

"_Yes_, _Tonks_. _That's_ _what_ I _am. And that's why you don't need me_." Just whispers among the barest of whispering breezes…

Her face broke completely, the porcelain of her cheeks was shattered in a broken sob itself, her glistening eyes tore themselves from his pocketed hands and dejected, pulled, twisted face… it was completely emotionless.

Her eyes, they searched once more—helplessly—for his own. They were turned away from her. He wouldn't allow just one last… one last smile. No. She tore herself completely away from him. Tore herself from the ground and ran, and that seemed like it was all she could do. That seemed like it was the only thing in the world, running. Running away from Remus, lying to herself that it would be okay, lying to herself that she wouldn't get Xavier to _kill_ him later…

She had to lie and run away, and hide underneath the warms covers that pelted the cold truth away from her body at home. She would just have to lie… and hide. She didn't want the truth, she didn't want this. She wanted _Remus_. And it seemed like that was the only thing in the world… _Remus_. And she couldn't have him. Couldn't have what she wanted because the world was cruel… and everything _had_ to be difficult.

The coat of trees that had engulfed her body ripped themselves away from her and there he was… the safety, the black serenity of lies… Xavier. She took a quick hold of his jacket and he immediately twisted around to sneer at her… and soon his own face broke. "_Tonks_, _Tonks_, Tonks, _what_ _happened_?!"

Xavier watched from afar, he could see them—himself and Tonks—sheltered amongst the last of the remaining branches against the edges of the clearing. The scene was glued upon the trees in front of him, but he also stood there with a silently crying Remus in the clearing. Remus stumbled blindly over to the only shelter he knew.

The rock in the center of the clearing was no longer vacant as the two of them sat. Xavier held the last remnants of a pensive face as long as he possibly could, but it was useless. He both wanted to turn and console the panicking man _and_ punch him all the same. Did that even make sense? Turning, he realized he could not see the younger man's face, for it was hurried away by his worn, scarred hands.

"Remus…" Xavier breathed quietly.

"_Oh, damn it all, what _have_ I done_?"

It was the only response he was given, and _that_ didn't even make sense. So he played along…

"You've destroyed yourself, you fool," he said quietly as no venom seeped into the words. He stood all in one move with them as they swept upward and toward the overcast clouds hanging low in the sky. Slowly, hesitantly, he placed his cold hand on Remus' leaning shoulder. He struggled for words, even when Remus would not hear them. The only thing he could do was turn, fade out of the memory and breathe quietly.

"Goodbye, Remus."

—**xxxv**—

Suddenly, Tonks' fingernails dug deeper and deeper into flesh until the blood welled. Xavier gasped at the smells.

The pungent scent wafted around him. Fear.

It was fear… and…

"Xavier!"

He felt himself land back first on the linoleum of the kitchen. "What the hell was that for?"

"Look, you idiot!" Malcolm was stared wide-eyed at Tonks' unmoving, breathless figure… was she—

"You fucking moron! Did you kill her, goddamn you?!"

"No," Xavier gasped quietly. Once he recaptured his breath, he clutched his throat. The blood was still making its way sluggishly through his veins. He could feel it. He looked down at his wrists. The veins that held the darkened, suffocated blood were filling bright red against his pale skin. "Malcolm, she's not—"

"Don't you fucking _ever_ do that again, you hear me?!" Malcolm had taken hold of Xavier's collar, tugged him up from the floor of the kitchen and shoved him against the far table to their right. He could feel the darkness of the cherry wood digging into the backs of his thighs. Malcolm's eyes were baked bright brown and glowing in the softened blue cream of the dim kitchen window. His eyes searched the brightened sea, and Malcolm did the same, searching the vampire's own darkened depths of his eyes. They swam quietly. The room blurred before him, and Malcolm's claws etched the very skin of his chest. He smelled the blood slightly.

Malcolm was suddenly five feet from him, almost across the room. "Xavier, I'm—" The werewolf extended his arms to the vampire.

"Forget it, it's okay," he muttered, pushing past the taller figure. Moment's later: "You want to do the honors?" Malcolm rolled his eyes, plucked Tonks from her place on the plush green carpet of the sitting room floor and nestled her in his arms.

"You should be doing this considering you almost drank her dry…" he whispered, walking down the hall. Xavier followed quietly without word. Yes, he _should_ be the one to carry her down the hallway, but he could smell the anger in Malcolm boiling down… and that was exactly what he wanted, could he be blamed? Once Tonks was leaning desperately against the pillows, Malcolm looked up. The glassy, white face of the vampire was down-turned and faced away from the werewolf. "Do you feel any better?" Malcolm stepped the slightest bit closer until, fnally, he was seated at the foot of the bed.

"A little… the ache in my back is gone. My neck has stopped hurting."

"The blood I gave you should have sufficed for a month," Malcolm pointed out softly.

"You think I don't know that?" he asked emotionlessly. "I don't know what it is, maybe the memories. You had a shitty childhood, Malcolm."

The werewolf chuckled quietly, "Tell me something I don't know." Playfully he punched the vampire in the shoulder. Xavier now started to laugh. He rubbed his left upper arm and his eyes glinted in the barest of twilight. He rolled his eyes casually. "You need more…"

"No, Malcolm. I don't need anymore blood. I'll be okay for a couple of weeks… maybe even four."

"You could go eat those bastard squirrels for me." Malcolm traced the slowly healing cut above his brow with his fingernail. "Xavier—"

"No, Malcolm, _no_." Suddenly deep, jagged black claws were digging into his neck. Fear nipped at the edges of the vampire's eyes. He pursed his lips at the werewolf's intentions and suddenly he felt his lip bleeding. He had bitten his own lip in an effort not to bite the werewolf. It didn't hurt. It would never hurt. But he just didn't want bite anyone… he didn't _need_ to. He didn't need anymore blood, and he certainly didn't want to bite Malcolm.

Roughly, he pushed the werewolf away from him, and he landed squarely against the right edge of the end of the bed. Malcolm's eyes glowed once more with anger or resentment, he couldn't tell.

"It doesn't hurt. It never will."

"No!" He raced hysterically from the room and slid like that of a baseball player into the other across the hall. The shriek never escaped his lips for Malcolm had stomped his way into the room behind the stricken vampire to quickly.

"Do you want to see the memory or not?" Malcolm asked quietly. Xavier's interest was heightened by the slightest of shard, quick movements he exerted, and he guessed the werewolf could sense it for he bent down in front of the cowering vampire. "Xavier, it won't hurt. You need more blood… admit it. And I want to show you something."

"No." He said it firmly. "I don't," he insisted. "And I know it doesn't hurt, and why can't you just tell me?" he rambled. Through the darkness he could have sworn that the werewolf bowed his head and scuffed the floor slightly with his boots. "What did you do?" He paused as he got up… and fell against the werewolf. It was true, he did need more blood. It was unexplainable why, but he did. His ribs were aching and his legs hurt from moving so much, running, just… moving all together.

Malcolm raised a questioning brow slightly at the vampire shrouded awkwardly against his chest. "What?" Xavier asked quietly, his fingers moving quickly to find the puncture wounds from before gone. He leaned slightly up and the muscles were taut under his tongue. He could feel the pain of his teeth growing in the lure of skin. And the blood… it was so… different from that of Tonks'.

Tonks' blood remained sweetened, sickly and warm, but Malcolm's was burning, heated, steaming and it made his skin crawl at how much warmer it all was. It remained bitter, like that of an animal's, but it was so much warmer. And that made him jump at the opportunity. Malcolm's claws dug slightly into his shoulders as he opened his flesh even more. The more Malcolm's blood welled, the more Xavier grew insistent. He could taste the metal tint in the werewolf's blood and the memory was so close to him, it was tickling his teeth painfully. He bit harder, harder, and deeper until Malcolm snarled in his ear. He was pulled down and the memory was writhing, alive, and there in front of him…

—**xxxvi**—

He stood at the foot of the bed. The same, glimmering golden eyes stared up at the figure of the vampire as if he were actually standing there in the darkness. And then the breathing… it was… _heavy_?

"_Mmm_—" The sound of muffled…

Xavier moved closer to the bed, to his right he stepped as quietly as possible—even when Malcolm couldn't even hear him—to the right side of the bed. It was there he knelt and soon he was the werewolf in the bed himself. Someone's weight was distributed above him, it was light, soft, but still… he felt as if he had three thick blankets piled atop him. And the soft feeling of gentle lips against his own, easy at first and then faster and harder.

He pulled himself spastically away from the two. "_We shouldn't—be doing this_."

"_It's just a few—kisses_…" They both muttered through the kisses, trying equally not to silence each other completely.

"_What about_—" Malcolm… that was Malcolm and he paused. "_Xavier_… _What about Xavier_?" he asked quietly again.

"_Malcolm_…" Tonks! It was Tonks… but when… when did they _do_ this?! The day he was gone? He was gone that day… he told Malcolm to _take_ her somewhere! _Not_ _his_ _room_! She'd _seen _his room already! What more was there to see?!

Xavier quickly tried his best to pull away from the both of them just as Malcolm murmured quietly, "_What_?" and he succeeded only when Tonks had uttered the final words…

"_Shut_ _up_…" His deepened chuckle filled the room, and soon they were both drowning in raw, passionate kisses… soon the blood tickled his lips once more… enticing and drawing him back to the surface. Soon, Malcolm's bright eyes came to his own, and he felt the sharp nails of the werewolf dig into his scalp as he licked the remaining drops of blood from his lower lip.

—**xxxvii**—

"I didn't mean to!"

"You _know_ she was Remus'! You were _crazy_ for even _conceiving_ the idea! Why did you _do_ that?! And I had to _witness_ it! In my _bed_! _Now_ I know why I couldn't sleep! It's all _your_ fault!"

"_Was_! She said it didn't matter… just a few… _kisses_. And what the _hell_ are you talking about?!"

Quietly, Malcolm looked up, his eyes wide and imploring like that of a puppy. "Don't you _dare_…" Xavier commanded.

"What?" he asked casually.

"No… don't… not the puppy eyes… _Malcolm_."

"What am I doing?" His forehead creased and he lowered his chin almost to his chest. "What am I doing, Xavier?"

"No! You're a _bad_ dog! Bad _dog_!" Xavier crossed his arms and turned quickly from his pathetic face. "You _knew_ not to kiss Tonks!"

Malcolm immediately rolled his eyes… "Here we go." He drew the words out and Xavier silenced him.

"_Yes_, and we're going to talk about this again and _again_ until you get it through your thick _skull_, _verstehst du mich_?!" Xavier could have started cursing in German, but it made Malcolm look up quicker at him once he uttered that phrase.

"_Gottverdammt_, of course I understand you. It was just a few kisses—"

"A _few_?"

"You _asshole_, I don't care _how_ many it was, she didn't care, I _didn't_ bite her, she's _still_ Remus' so it doesn't _matter_. _Verstehst_?!"

Xavier threw a smirk in his direction… "Of course I understand."

Malcolm could only roll his eyes silently and walk into the kitchen, pause with his hands nailed to his hips, then quickly turn and parade down the hallway. "Malcolm, you are _so_ damn immature!"

"I am not!" he drunkenly called from Tonks' room. He raced down the hallway again, his blonde hair a complete mess. "You like Tonks!" he declared quickly. Xavier's shoulders fell into defeat. What in the world was this idiot talking about? That was the only question that erupted to his mind. "You like Tonks! You like Tonks!" Malcolm taunted. Xavier did nothing but stand quietly and observe Malcolm dancing in the kitchen like a drunk clown…

"You are _such_ an idiot," Xavier said quietly. He muttered, staring at the carpeted floor of the sitting room. The green blurred before his eyes.

"You like Tonks! You like Tonks!" Malcolm chanted as if saying those three words would make it true… it would _make_ Xavier like Tonks. But, no. Xavier didn't, couldn't… most certainly would _not_ allow himself to like Tonks. Yes, Tonks was perfect, annoying, fun to be with, but Malcolm deserved her. He had already lost Lia.

Tonks had lost Remus. And Xavier was just a loner vampire. He would be on the run all his life… he wasn't sure from what but he just was. Maybe it was life itself he was running from… love? No… the truth… maybe. He hated the truth of his own life. He would _never _tell anyone about what had happened to him… and so that was what he was running from, he guessed…

The truth… the truth that he would never be able to be happy, but he shook his head quickly. No. He would not, most of all, pity himself. He didn't deserve it.

"You like Tonks! You like Tonks! You like Tonks! You like Tonks!"

"I do _not_, Malcolm! Shut. The fuck. _Up_!" Xavier spat. His chin was lowered; his eyes glittered beneath his hair, dark and tensed. He looked threatening, but Malcolm could only throw the slightest of sneers at the vampire.

"What are you going to do, Xavier? _Bite_ me again? I was just kidding! It doesn't hurt to play around, eh?" Malcolm tried his hardest not to walk quickly across the kitchen, over to Xavier and punch him playfully in the shoulder so he would _know_ and _understand_ that he was just _kidding_! He raised his hands. He could hear the hiss on Xavier's breath. "Xavier…"

The snarl that escaped the vampire's lips made Malcolm stand bare in the kitchen—he relaxed his muscles completely. "Xavier… calm down, you idiot. I was only kidding." He slowly backed towards the sink, his hands stretched slowly—as surreptitiously as they could—behind him to find something that would arm him against Xavier, something… anything really. Malcolm knew not to offend him but he couldn't help the itching instinct telling him to do so. He would calm down… or so he thought.

It was a blur for Malcolm, the next few moments. Xavier had disappeared from where he was standing, and Malcolm was suddenly on the floor. Strangled, he tried his very best to snatch even the slightest glances of Xavier's face, but the only thing he snatched was his own breath in the silence of the kitchen. Xavier released another almost inaudible hiss once more, and Malcolm thought about how threatening _that_ sounded! "You _really_ think you scare me?"

Xavier's narrowed eyes, darkened, completely black, entered his vision. And Malcolm could only stare, open-mouthed at the sight… His pallid face and stringy hair, the tightened, taut fangs hiding just beneath his slit mouth. It was barely open and ready to pounce… Malcolm pushed roughly at the vampire and the only thing he succeeded in doing was forcing Xavier back to the very edges of the kitchen. Xavier's hands were closing in upon his throat once more. Damn, why the hell is he allowed to move so fucking fast?! Malcolm couldn't help but try to snarl, growl, do anything to escape the vampire's anger but… it left him empty-handed.

The immediate lurch in his stomach as he punched Xavier squarely in the jaw made him look at the blurring clock that was weirdly above him now.

The blood that seeped into the werewolf's vision was offending—intruding moreover as his head screamed with pain—and their tentacles reached vilely out to him. The darkened room was the screeching signal of defeat and Malcolm fell silently into reprieve.

—**xxxviii**—

Xavier's hands shook, his legs trembled at the adrenaline, the anger… All the damned emotions. He couldn't take it. Suddenly he had been lunging at the werewolf before him—Malcolm's eyes widening at the sight of the feelings in his completely blackened, gleaming eyes. And then, the pain hit him… his jaw was searing with it. There was practically an imprint of four knuckles against the pallid outline of his face. And he felt the anger coursing through him once more. Waves and waves. And suddenly…

Malcolm was below him… he heard the crack of his skull against the very edge of the counter. And his blood… The damned, fucking blood. No… no, no… It was on his shoes, it was in his nose, dripping in his mouth just like the saliva that he was trying to hold back. With one last shuddering and panicked sigh he turned abruptly from the scene and left Malcolm _alone_ and probably dying—as it was—on the kitchen floor.

**7:36**

That was the only thing that filled his eyes.

It scarred his pupils, burned his very flesh. And soon the numbing feeling spread through him, the euphoria. It filled his head, his limbs, and lastly his fingers. He couldn't feel the linoleum beneath him, or the blood. He couldn't even _smell_ it. He didn't want to. The pumping, agonizing, pounding, fucking headache he was getting…

Damn it, he would strangle that idiot when he next saw him. But he couldn't focus on that. Darkness took him completely and he didn't fight. _This_ was what he wanted as he motionlessly, silently slipped into never-ending unconsciousness. And seven thirty-six so happened to be the last he could remember of his life…

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	11. Sway, Swaying, Suede

_Sway, Swaying, Suede_

* * *

**A/N: As for the last chapter… **

**Malcolm DIED! **

**…Am I still alive? No? Okay...**

**This chapter has been dedicated to the loyal _R.L.N.Tonks_.**** It's also thanks to her for the wonderful Lia Breedlove!**

**

* * *

**_Pierce. Break. Anguish. _

_Pain. Puncture. Echo. _

_Pound. Pound… Pound. _

_Again. All over. Cycle. _

_Discomfort. _

_Swimming. Struggling… Drowning. _

_Gasping_. Everything's a blur. There's the slight touch of glistening snowflakes on burning skin. Or that's what it feels like from this position. There's a soft sound on the air. The snow as it makes its way down on the slight breathy air?

No. It's a voice… a far off voice, distorted and grotesque, but a voice all the same.

No… no, no. _Screaming. Screeching. Writhing. Fighting._ There's nothing going on, and the world's ending at them same time. There's a squelching, smothering shot of fear in the air. The bottle's already broken so the alcohol's everywhere. But that shot… that one shot. It just landed on the very edges of his lips.

And Malcolm jumped. He couldn't move. Slowly, he tried to feel his fingers. Damn, the snow was cold. But… why was he outside? Metal. _Tinted_. _Dripping_… _Oozing_. _Thickened and oppressing_… it's blood and it's everywhere. He can smell it. It's tickling his nose, pricking his teeth painfully like that of cold ice cream on your front teeth. And he can feel that, too. His eyes are dilated.

Malcolm jumped again at the smell… what was it? Carefully, tenderly, he tried to move and succeeded in… absolutely nothing… There it was again, though. As he tried to move… began to think… Pound. Pound… Pound. Pound. On again, off again. It was his head… or something in his head. Maybe something wasn't working right…

He couldn't think straight. Everything was thick. And confusing and loud and… basically everything it _shouldn't_ be. And he forgot where he was suddenly. Nothing was… _everything_. And everything had become a crazy—mixed up—conglomerated mess of fucking _nothing_. Damn, he was _so_ confused.

There was a cold hand against his face. It was swollen, his face. Swollen in pain and discomfort, but it was so numb. He could barely feel the fingers explore way, _way_ above him. And he didn't know… it was like feeling a bird's wings flutter awkwardly against your cheek. And it was far, _far_ away, above him.

"Malcolm." Like a ghost whispering in his ear, he heard a woman's voice. Whose? Who was that? It seemed so familiar and so foreign at the same time. He felt his head loll to the side, and it landed painfully on something cold… numbing, freezing cold. Damn, where the _hell_ was he?! "Malcolm. Malcolm. Malcolm. It's okay." He couldn't see, but suddenly he could hear? Pounding, pounding… he was going to punch the person who had made his head pound like this…

Tonks! She chanted his name over and over as if it would bring him back to the very edge of life, to the very surface where complete, whole portions of thought were reachable. It hurt to think, couldn't he just fall back into unconsciousness?

With the pounding headache he had right now, it was almost unthinkable, considering he could hardly think in the first place. There it was once again—the numb feeling of someone else's flesh on his. He couldn't know who it was. The only thing he knew was that there was blood surrounding his entire body, engulfing him in the sweet stench. He was practically drowning in it. It was Tonks' hand that pulled him to the surface. "Merlin, are you okay? Malcolm, look at me, dammit! _Answer_ me! God I was so fucking worried about you! Hey! _Hello_?!" He felt far away from her calling voice it was surprising he could hear her at all.

That was when he decided he was tired of being sucked down and into unconsciousness.

He pulled himself out.

Carefully he opened his eyes to see her stricken face. Her eyes were practically rimmed with fire, traced in darkened circles as if she hadn't even had the imagination to think of sleep the night before. He forgot all about the position he was trapped in on her kitchen floor he was worried about her. His left hand was too heavy, however, for him to raise it, cup her face and comfort her. It was just… hopeless. "Help me up." Did he even say that?

"Help me up, love." She frantically grabbed his upper arm and he immediately regretted asking. Pain seared through his neck. What the hell?

"What happened?" She beat him to asking what the hell _had_ happened. He barely took the time to shake his head, the damned pounding of his oncoming, relentless headache had returned. Trying again and again they eventually wound up on the closest of the two couches in the sitting room. Thank. God. That was the _only_ thing that came to his mind.

His hand gingerly made it way up to the very back of his head, the sole source of the thumping… _Pain_. "God. _DAMN_! I'll kill that mother fucking bastard! Where the _hell_ is _Xavier_?!" he spat.

Tonks blinked a few times after her eyes fluctuated between widening and narrowing in the matter of a couple minutes. "I don't know. He hasn't been here all day. I thought he may have gone out—"

"I'll _kill _him!" the werewolf hissed under his breath. A snarl escaped unscathed from Malcolm's throat.

"Hey." He looked wildly at her, like a trapped, angered, caged animal. His eyes glowed bright golden in the light of the room. And suddenly they dimmed as Tonks' lips met his scratchy cheek. "It's okay." She muttered against his throat as he closed his eyes willingly. He could give into this if only his head wasn't… pounding.

Tonks' hands had—at some point—made their way up to the back of his neck. It was there where her fingertips pressed tenderly, gently and receded to let the pain ebb every few seconds. "Mmm, Tonks." Malcolm's face hardened at the sudden bout of pain that filled his head. What in the _hell_ was wrong with him?! Did he have a fucking concussion for Christ's bleeding sake?!

He leaned out of her touch and opened his bleary eyes. It was then he proceeded to kiss her hungrily, greedily. He would be able to ignore the pain if… Malcolm's hands were quick to tangle in her hair, it was wrought and darkened brown. Beautiful, he thought immediately when her scent suddenly filled his nostrils. A deepened growl filled his chest. It erupted when she pulled back. A small smile had curled around her lips. Adorable, Malcolm corrected himself. He dove in for another kiss. His right hand made its way down, playing with the lengthened curls as he reached the edge of her tightened lavender shirt. He smiled against her lips as her breath hitched innocently.

Malcolm then brought his hand up to press against the small of her back—he felt like being an asshole tease anyway. His fingers tightened in her hair, their grip slackening as his hand tickled her back in a lazy, lengthened pattern. His freed hand laced her face as he pulled away. Tonks was straddling Malcolm completely now and he chuckled at the sight. Her hair was mussed—by him of course. He loved the sight it was almost as if Lia…

"Malcolm?" Tonks' quieted voice almost succeeded in making him jump… He couldn't even remember the shocking sensation of complete thought filling his mind but Lia… wonderful, wholesome Lia. No, Tonks wasn't Lia. He wasn't going to make her out to be Lia, it was just wrong. He looked up guiltily into her wondering eyes. "What is it?" she demanded.

"It's…"

She cocked an unanswered brow at his flustered appearance. He really didn't know what to say exactly. "It's nothing," he insisted tonelessly.

"It's not _nothing_, Malcolm. You and I _both_ know that." Tonks stood quickly up. The said Malcolm followed quickly suit. His gaze fell icily upon her shorter form. His shoulders gave way to exhaustion. Damn, why was he being so… _weak_.

Shaking his head, he lowered his chin until his gaze struck the floor at her feet. Shrugging, he muttered as he walked down the hall. Tonks couldn't help but let her gaze follow him helplessly, worriedly. "It's really nothing, Tonks." He disappeared into the bedroom on the left, of course—Xavier's bedroom.

To hell with it, she wasn't giving up that easily. He would _not_ just leave her hanging so _rudely_. She stepped down the hall quickly, her eyed locked on the gleaming doorknob. Trying her hardest to be quiet—that plan was screwed immediately since she remembered he was a werewolf and had excellent hearing. _Dammit!_ Impossibly, she tripped on something. It may as well have been her feet, but a merciful Malcolm had been there to catch her… her breath included. It was caught painfully in her chest and her nails were bringing blood from his shoulders.

"You can let go now, Tonks. I've got you," he whispered.

Tonks wasted no time in replying, "Thank you." Her lips were suddenly on his.

Malcolm had no clue why but his hands wound their way down until they rested firmly on her hips… wasn't he mad just a second ago? The pounding in his head made him give in. He needed the release. Tonks smiled against his lips as he gave in without a fight. Without breaking the kiss, she pushed him to the edge of the bed. The wood bit into his legs, but the pain in his head made up for that and he ignored it completely. He delved deeper into the kiss until Tonks was left gasping. She smartly nipped his shoulder while gaining back her lost breath.

Malcolm raised his head silently. He numbly felt Tonks push him back into the softness of the mattress. Her hands were leaving sparks of fire beneath his tight shirt, but he didn't realize his breath caught in his throat… he was… somewhere… else entirely…

—**xl**—

"_Malcolm_." The soft whisper brought him to easily open his eyes. The soft smile was a given, always implanted on his face. She could see it in the dim candlelight. She absolutely loved it when he was this vulnerable around her… it made her feel… to put it in simple terms, it made her feel quite special. But that wasn't what she was thinking about. Her pallid skin glowed in the light. Malcolm smiled down at her. His arm wrapped beneath her body and soon he brought the other around to envelope her completely.

Lia's hair was soft against his chest. She listened to his steady heartbeat and closed her eyes… Her breath came as a contented sigh. It was just… perfect. Perfect, complete, right. "_I love you_," Lia whispered finally.

"_I love you, too, love_." She could hear the smile in his voice.

Overjoyed. That was what their love was. That was what it had always been. At first… she had been so guilty. They had basically needed each other. Through the darkness of that horrid camp… they had individually found each other and together they had ran… away, far away. Far enough away to escape, she hoped. She shuddered involuntarily against his warmed body. He let his gaze wander down in her direction. When she continued to shiver, he turned his head down and kissed her forehead when she looked up at him. She leaned up and he smiled as he brushed his nose against hers—the usual innocence of a werewolf kiss… He chuckled deeply when she giggled.

So sweet, Malcolm thought silently. His lips collided gently with Lia's and each and every one of his thoughts disappeared to hide in the very back of his mind. He couldn't think clearly when they were this close, it was just… completely impossible. And he liked that about Lia. Loved it, adored it, appreciated it. She made everything go away and filled his heart to overflowing with joy. He unconsciously brought his flouncing hands to grip the contours of her jaw, pressing her even closer. She moaned at the contact, closing her eyes as she smiled against his fierce kisses. His hands brought sense-filling flame to her skin; his musky scent immediately filled her nose when she fought for air.

The lightheadedness of his kiss… she loved it. Her eyes opened when he breathlessly leaned out of the kiss. There was the trace of a smile around his lips; his hair was a glowing halo of a mess as it flowed above her. His strong arms were all around her as he looked down at her. He straddled her waist, all of his weight practiced in his arms and knees. It wasn't another moment later that Lia had leaned up to capture his lips in as just a fierce kiss as his. Malcolm relaxed some of his weight from his knees, knowing just what kind of response he would receive… Lia's hands came to wrap around his neck. She tried getting closer and closer until her chest was pressed flush against his.

Their heartbeats synchronized and Malcolm couldn't help but smile. It was just… sweet. And though he never thought he would ever be happy, he loved that as well… She made him… complete. And as much a cliché as it was, it was sweet. He couldn't help but love it. He loved being happy. And he loved his Lia.

—**xli**—

Malcolm rolled his eyes at himself for being so… young. Stupid, he thought silently. Maybe it was having Tonks draped, sleeping and breathing steadily across his chest that his thoughts had turned from itching sweet to negative. He couldn't help it. Lia was… He brought his free right hand up and rubbed his eyes… hard. Smirking at the pain of the pressure, Malcolm pushed up from the bed's embrace, leaving Tonks to sigh as she found a cold pillow instead of his warm, bare chest.

Bare… his bare feet padded on the wood floor and the door protested at his leaving. The squeaking of the hinges was continuously screaming at him as he made his way down the dark hallway… it was still nighttime.

Duh, Malcolm would have said it aloud if there hadn't been the sound of movement ahead of him. He found his way to the kitchen, his hand falling immediately on the closest switch. It was the hall light. And there… Xavier stood ghostly in front of him. He was sure that was what _he_ had looked like earlier that evening. Caught… trapped… with only the hall light to witness his caught stature alert face.

But Xavier was anything but alert because Malcolm's fist caught the vampire before he could even react. He stood his ground, but his face was drawn, tired… pallid. His eyes were empty, even when the light from the hall fell upon him at a perfect angle. Xavier didn't bother to hold up his hand to keep Malcolm from talking. No "I can explain" or apology. So Malcolm went with what first came to his mind…

"I _ought_ to _kill_ you, _dammit_!"

Xavier's lips almost quirked at the words, but the only thing Malcolm did was deepen his frown. Well, not Malcolm completely, for Tonks appeared behind him at that moment. "Where've you been, eh?" she asked softly, nothing tinting her tone as her voice fell as bare upon his ears as the hall light on his figure. He blinked and let his gaze weave down to the tile of the floor. Malcolm didn't so much as move… blink or breathe. He was completely motionless. Everything was about to fall apart, he knew. Xavier wasn't mad, but _he_ sure as hell fucking _was_.

A throaty growl rose, quiet and undaunted by the unmoving, seemingly _uncaring_ Xavier. He still looked at the floor. He knew what he did was wrong. Damn, he'd known better than to attack like that.

Blinking once, twice, Malcolm jerked himself away from the sight of the vampire. He paced quickly, trying hard not to slip on the slickness of the floor. His feet suddenly held him firmly in place once Xavier's nearly inaudible voice reached him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry will _never_ make up for this, Xavier! I thought you had _left_ me here to _die_!" he spat relentlessly. "I thought _you_ were going to be the reason I was going to die." His voice lowered considerably while Tonks watched the both of them grapple with what to say next.

"How's your head?" the vampire asked, ignoring the explosion of anger. Malcolm would have to live with his anger… vampires were known to blow a fuse, too. He had emotions, too, and he had suddenly lost control of them… Shit happens, Xavier told himself. His face was still emotionless as Malcolm paused. The anger was scrawled hastily on his face still and it was then—when Xavier had hesitated in studying the werewolf—that Malcolm made to move closer. The strength of a warm hand wrapped tightly around Xavier's throat. There was a slight, earsplitting scream, but Xavier didn't bother to find Tonks' frightened figure somewhere beyond where Malcolm was standing now.

It was his voice in Xavier's ear, "It fucking hurts." Tears had welled in his eyes at the stiffening pain in his neck, in every one of his limbs. He subdued himself to Malcolm's anger, knowing good and damn well he could probably be killed, trampled, stomped beneath it. But the hint of laughter in the werewolf's voice let him know otherwise…

It was Tonks' voice, however, that pulled Malcolm's hand away from his throat. "Malcolm…"

Xavier's frail figure was suddenly brittle as Malcolm clutched both of his arms in his winding grasp. The vampire could almost feel his upper arms bruising under the pressure. "God… dammit." Malcolm bowed his head as the tears—with a mind of their own—fell away from Xavier's face. Malcolm had leaned forward until his forehead rested against Xavier's chest. He felt the tightened pull of his skin healing as the tears dried. The throbbing pain left as he pulled the vampire into a light embrace. His arms were relaxed for he knew Xavier had probably been "beaten" by a baseball bat…

At the werewolf's practiced touch, it was then that a smile finally reached his lips, "I'm sorry." With a laugh, the words echoed through everyone.

"I _ought_ to kill you, Xavier."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	12. Lascivious Linen

_Lascivious Linen _

* * *

**A/N: I adore vampires and their abilities to look into peoples' souls…**

**I apologize for the grammatical and format errors. **

**If we missed any they will be fixed soon! Thanks! **

* * *

_Drip_._ Drip_._ Drip_… rhythmically, it was hypnotic. The drip, drip, drip sound of water upon cold, darkened rock made no one turn to see what exactly created the sound. A fountain—an above ground fountain—had finally snuck its way down, slyly, to corrode more rock instead of keeping to itself and the warm ground up above them all. It was the water that had created the small crevice that only the unluckiest got to sleep in.

And it was an unlucky Remus Lupin who sat, crammed in the cave. He didn't like the metallic taste of the water, but he was _not_ going to drink from any of the sedative-induced jugs that Greyback handed out at every feast. Hell, he didn't even want to know what they _served_ as "food" for Merlin's legendary sake.

Footsteps, upon footsteps, upon never-ending footsteps—how long had it been, he wondered lamely. He had seated himself here, now his pants were soaked, his moth-eaten shirt was strict against his chest from sweat… cold sweat, dammit. He was sick… _again_. He couldn't believe this. What was it about wounds that just_ attracted_ the sweet, forgiving kindness of sickness?

He coughed _again_ into his fisted right hand.

Anger crinkled his eyes.

His body ached from being stuffed into the tightest space in all the camp.

More footsteps, he didn't look up to guess who it could be. Everyone was hooded unless they didn't have direct line to Greyback. No, he corrected himself, I'm calling him _Gaybeard_ for all the shit he's put me through. He had never been spiteful, but the wet stench of fur had grown too sour, his feet had never been colder, he had never had the pain of arthritis in his hands, but now that he was so fucking wet he couldn't help but try_ not_ to move. And. It. Pissed. Him. The. Fuck. Off.

He hated it. _Here_. Greyback—no, _Gaybeard_. _Everyone _around him. He hated _all _of it. He was going to break soon enough, and whether torture by his fellow savage werewolves or death would be there at the very end of it to greet him… he could _give _a damn _less_.

Wounds… as a matter of fact, he _was_ wounded. Getting in a scrape with Death Eater werewolves—excluding_ Gaybeard_ of all things—was not the wisest decision he had ever made. In fact, it was thanks to the both of those asses that he now had to put up with a _common cold_, three broken ribs, and the rest of the cuts on his body—caused by_ him_, of course, and…

Hell, it could be worse, but the bruise over his left eye hurt like a son of a bitch, and he refused to move top get help—even as he butt had just started to wake up. So… how long had it been? A few days, a week even? Tonks had been… happy. There, he admitted it. She had been_ happy_ to see him, and he couldn't do anything about the drop he felt in his stomach then and there the moment he had seen her face.

Why did you leave us alone, Xavier?

The next time he saw that skinny bastard he would curse him to hell in a hand-basket and back.

He _shouldn't_ have left us alone, that was part of the deal, Remus reminded himself. So what exactly was it that made him wander off deeper into the woods? _Away_ from us, he added. _Damn_, he hated assuming things, but he did it _all_the damn time. The worst comes before anything, he had grown up learning that, and now that it had been hammered into his skull, he went along with everything by his own moral. The worst is always first before everything. He was screaming—at himself, So be trained to take it that way, you _coward_! Why did you _do _that?! He couldn't help but punish himself.

Yeah,_ punish_ himself.

238 cuts on his lean, upper arms, 564 on his legs altogether, and then some—about 179—on the bottoms of his feet, the majority going to what he could reach of his back, and the remaining palms of his hands… at the end of it all, he couldn't even hold onto the knife, so it ended up being 179 instead of 180… too weak, he had lost too much blood, too much willpower, and definitely way too much of his common sense to continue.

He was a dead man if he ever returned to the Order…

Death by enraged woman…

It sounded _so_ inviting… not.

And when Tonks saw him—"Remus." Yeah, yeah, he'd get to whoever stood there calling his name later, but right now, if Tonks could see him in this state—"Remus?" Not now, he waved his hand at the person insisting that he answer. If Tonks could see him right now, she would be—"Remus!"

He jumped suddenly. "Hmm?" And it was then he allowed himself the painful motion of opening his eyes. His vision was blurred. Being a werewolf was no help, for he couldn't even see a foot in front of himself. Who turned out the lights?

"No one turned out the lights, Remus. Wake up. It's nighttime. They're gathering everyone in the Cavern. Come on, before Gaybeard sends one of his cronies to fetch me. _C'mon_." The suave voice of a woman helped him up. He opened his eyes to the peppered grey, blue slate of the woman's eyes.

"I don't need help, Lee. Just _leave _me here. No," he groaned.

"Stop being a big baby about it! Come _on_—" His sleeve slipped higher and higher along his left arm, and just as both her hands struggled to keep him upright, her highest hand gripped the first few ranks of cuts along his arm. When he wailed at the contact, she looked down. "What the _hell_ did you _do_?!" Basically, she dropped him to the ground. That would be a bruise to his ass for a week. Now how the hell am I supposed to lay down? He wondered silently, fuming at the agonizing pain.

Grimacing, the woman above him asked—more demanded—for an answer. "Well…_ What_ did you do?"

"Nothing…"

"Remus, you dumbass, _that_ isn't nothing. Do you have anymore?"

—**xliii**—

It was an hour after the meeting, and Remus stood almost naked in front of Lee. "I wasn't planning to tell anyone."

"You_ didn't _tell me," Lee paused, "I found out, genius. It's your fault. If you didn't want me to find out, you would have gotten up in the first place."

"I can't move."

"I_ noticed_." Lee put emphasis on the word just as she poked him sharply in the back where a deep cut weaved from the base of his shoulder blade, diagonally up to the very end of his shoulder. "How in the hell?" she asked as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Just don't touch them, dammit." He cursed her wet fingers. The water—the moisture—it made his very skin burn, crawl in agony. And he hated this place. Yeah, so, it was his _own _fault for being in pain in the first place, but that wasn't the point. He shuddered at Lee's touch. She was trying to be gentle, but it wasn't helping at all. The salt of the water Greyback—_Gaybeard_, he insisted—gave them was everywhere, spread along the walls of the cave only because it deadened the need for blood and prevented everyone from killing each other.

"I can if I _want_," she insisted. She traced a few stray ones in the very middle of his back with her fingernail. Leading her right index finger over his tightened skin, she listened to his breathing… soothing breathing.

"Lee."

"What?"

"The water on your hands burns," he stated blankly.

"Oh…" she jerked her hand away from his back as if _he_ had burned her. All the while, Remus stiffly made to turn around. The cuts on his feet, however, prevented the simple movement and he buckled there in front of her… or more so, on her. They were a mess on the uncomfortable rocky floor, Remus above her, with a breathless, strangled Lee below. She looked up at Remus, flushing Remus.

"Sorry—"

"I—"

They both tried speaking at the same time… and _that _just wouldn't work. Remus looked down at their close bodies, trying to assess how he should go with the situation. Slowly, he let his head rise, and—before he could even catch the sight of Lee's darkened brown hair framing her face—his lips were being crushed.

And Lee had no clue what had overcome her. Suddenly she was… _kissing_ Remus, Remus' soft lips, she took it all in.

That was the one thing that could make Remus move _very_ quickly even if he had been cut to shreds. His breathing was ragged and tight as he turned away from her, his pushed up, ripped up pants' legs were askew everywhere, and his hair was a complete disaster. But all the while, Lee laid there on the cold ground struck. She didn't move so much as a muscle.

Great,_ now _what had he done?

—**xliv**—

"_What have I done_?" His hair was a tangled mess, his breathing erratic. What _had_ he done? He didn't understand. Nothing made sense anymore. His head pounded. The world was a spinning chaos that he didn't care to assess. What was more, the silhouette in front of him was no more forgiving than himself.

"_You understand that everyone you love, care about, met, have spoken to will be terminated_?"

That cold voice, it brought an unwelcome chill up his spine. "_Yes_," he croaked. They had weakened him. Terminated? Everyone he knew would be terminated? Killed, is that what he means, he wondered. But, yes, he understood. They had weakened him so he would give in. His face was anything but healthy. Sallow skin, hollowed eyes. The only things of him that glowed anymore were his hopeless eyes and his pallid skin.

His hair definitely _was_ a tangled mess and the hand that was tangled in it wasn't moving. He would sooner let his arm fall asleep than yank his head off his shoulders. He was sure he wouldn't mind either right now… the pain.

Everyone he loved… everyone and anyone that cared about _him_. He couldn't understand that. He wanted to be alone in the first place but now… no one would even know he existed… no one…

"_You'll be just another face in the crowd that no one could give a shit less about."_ The robotic, metallic voice filled his mind.

"_It doesn't matter anymore. I don't care. _I_ don't care if they know. I didn't kill anyone. It wasn't_—"

"_You're a monster. You understand that. You_ kill _people for a living. You must live with it yourself. And in turn, those who care about you shall be terminated so _you_ can't hurt them_."

But they will hurt me for not being here for me, he knew that much. They wouldn't be killed, though they would be pretty much dead to him after he was freed from this hell. No one would be there. He wouldn't be able to talk to anyone for fear they be killed, or taken away, or whatever these moronic insane homicide maniacs were going to do with them.

"_We harvest souls who are infected_," the figure explained, swaying a little.

Infected? Nothing made sense. Why was his head swimming. The room wasn't moving at all, but his head was swimming? "_Infected_," he wondered aloud. "_You mean like vampires or something_?" he asked drunkenly. What the hell had they done to him? He was still perched on the edge of the chair, alert and ready, but his back was bent lazily, and his voice was weakened and scratchy. Malnourished, that's it, he was malnourished. Dehydrated, starved, practically not sane anymore, did he have to keep adding to the list?

"_Humans who are touched by our kind_."

Elaborate some more, please, he said silently. No words escaped his mouth. He didn't need to hear anymore.

"_And just what_—" No chance to finish _that_ question. He was interrupted.

"_As a vampire you are, one, never to tell a human of your being a vampire. Two, if you come in contact with a human, speak to them or anything, you must turn them at some point in time_ immediately," the stern voice insisted, "after _coming in contact with them. You shall be discreet in this act as well._"

"_Yes, yes. I know the ten blood rules. My parents had them taught to me centuries ago. I want my question answered—_"

He was spat insincerely at, "_If you know them so well, you _filthy_ disgrace, then you will do well to _follow_ them_."

"_I need no instruction from you_."

"_Explain then_," pausing on the brink of disaster, it was unbearable, "_why your little human toy was taken away from you_."

Coraline, beautiful Coraline, her darkened wavy hair was still tickling his face. Wonderful Coraline, the only person in the _world_ that could make him laugh. That had been fifty years—her sky blue eyes were vibrant against his own, imperial purple pair. That was what he didn't understand. How could her eyes shine so brightly when she had lost everything in the world? He couldn't possibly have made her that happy and still…

No, she would murder him if she could get half the chance. Her bloodied body was still fresh in his mind. Being so long ago, the human whiskeys and alcohols could drain him of enough consciousness to forget about everything, her eyeless face, open-mouthed, bloody expression, the shredded, practically _chocolate_ locks around her body that had once belonged solely to his hands. How he had loved to stroke her hair, how beautiful, soft, he would never have to chance to touch her again.

Her blouse had been ripped apart, and the gaping hole in her chest… her heart had been torn to pieces as well… but it wasn't there. It wasn't there. It was no longer for him, it wasn't his, it had been taken, stolen just as her life. And he didn't understand it, with her bloodied hair there in his hands as he openly wept on his knees. He had never expected to find her that broken on _his_ bed.

But he swore upon her soul that he would get his revenge… and searching for it… had landed him here.

"_She was_ mine," he snarled.

"_And now she belongs to us. We have her heart, you know. We've had it ever since_."

And even though all those—_every__one_ of his tears couldn't fix her, his love for her wouldn't make her come back, that was when he learned he didn't deserve anyone or anything. "_So now she belongs to me_," Malcolm's glowing yellow eyes and bright-toothed smile made him jump. He clawed his way out of his mind, and everything was left alone.

God, he just wanted to end… everything.

—**xlv**—

He hated dreams. Goddamn it, he hated dreams. He hated fucking dreams. Hated, despised, no, no, no more dreams. He hated the mother fuckers. It was Malcolm's bright eyes and stretched frown he woke up to. Malcolm's clawing hands fighting his own. Malcolm's shouts challenging his own, croaking roars. Dreams, horrible, fucking nightmares and memories that hellishly wouldn't stop bothering him, he hated them all.

"Coral,_ Coraline_!" His screeches escalated until Malcolm was forced to cover the vampire's mouth with his hand. Blood welled as Xavier bit into his hand panicking.

"Ugh!" It wasn't a sound of disgusted but of pain as Malcolm tried not to jerk from the sharp pain. Xavier's breath was hot against his palm as he calmed _very_ slowly.

"Malcolm?"

"You were dreaming of Coral." Malcolm asked. It hadn't be a question, more of a question to sit down as Xavier sat up.

"They took her away from me. _You_ took her away." His voice was haunted as he blankly looked down at his hands.

Softly, "What?" Malcolm _had_ to be gentle when it came to Xavier and the vampire's Coraline. It was a touchy subject that even _he_ had yet to get the full story on. "Xavier."

"Malcolm."

"What do you mean…"

"They took Coraline. And you were there. You were the one executing me."

"At the compound," Malcolm simplified. Xavier silently nodded. "Hey," Malcolm focused on Xavier's worrying hands.

"Hi." His eyes darkened as he silently leaned forward. He jerked Malcolm down suddenly, and before Malcolm could even register what was happened, his body exploded. Xavier's teeth dug into his flesh. He could _smell _his own blood running down, around his shoulder, and Xavier's teeth only dug deeper. He wasn't, however, released into the reprieve of unconsciousness.

His heart sped up with Xavier's breathing as he bit down even harder. "Mmm," he groaned. His body fell completely limp, and he muttered, "I didn't take Coraline… she took herself." It was then he fell into unconsciousness as Xavier licked the blood off his shoulder, and pondered what exactly Malcolm meant as he let his fingers tangle and grasp the werewolf's scalp. Soon Malcolm fell to unconsciousness, his head in the vampire's lap while Xavier thought and finally smiled.

—**xlvi**—

Leaves crackling beneath his feet. Where was he? The moon was shining above his head brightly. Wasn't he here just a few days ago?

"_Hey, Xavier_," he heard Tonks' voice in his head. Malcolm didn't understand… what…

"_Yeah_?"

"_I'm going on Ministry call. I'll be safe there, so don't worry. I'll be back probably around two tonight_."

"_Tomorrow morning, you mean_."

"_Yeah_," Tonks corrected herself nervously, "_Yeah. Later. Bye_!" She hurried out of the house and out of the vampire's thoughts.

So now their little vampire friend was here… but why? He was here… a few days ago… so why was Xavier… Here for just what exactly, his mind questioned him guiltily. He didn't want to answer it, but it came immediately with the clearing of trees around him, and the leaves leaving his feet to be replaced by soft grass. Why did Xavier want him here, of all places? He was guilty enough as it was…

"Malcolm." It was his name, yeah, but Xavier could only _slowly_, agonizingly _slowly_ turn toward the sight of the two entangled bodies. Malcolm was… He paled at the sight slightly.

No.

Xavier _knew_… Dammit.

He had been a bad werewolf. He laid there, silently on the ground, attacking Tonks' neck in the moonlight, his tongue tracing numerous patterns as her breath caught and sped all at once. Her hands intertwined in his hair, and she kissed his forehead, the point of his nose, and finally their lips messed once he had raised his head fully to her. His eyes shimmered in the darkness, as Tonks kept her own closed to enjoy the sweetness of the moment.

He hands ran up along her sides, down, rhythmically, over and over. His shirt had been tossed to the ground, residing now beneath his head instead of clinging to his body. Tonks had replaced his shirt quite skillfully.

"_You're going to be cold_." Xavier had heard their whole conversation? Great! That was perfect. He remembered the sensation of Tonks pressing closer, kissing him harder. And they had had an audience that consisted of _Xavier_ of all people. It was their breathing floating away in the darkness, their smothering kisses blotting out the stars above them, and Malcolm hadn't even bothered with looking around. Xavier was exceptionally good at being quiet, that bastard.

Tonks' shirt, he remembered, had been close to being unbuttoned… why did she insist on bringing him here? On getting him to do that? To get back at Remus? Comfort, maybe, she needed comfort. He felt like a puppy that was trying to learn a new trick and had succeeded in nothing.

"You're going to be cold." Why was Xavier talking to him now? He didn't get anything, soon, though, the memory was theatrically washed away and became blotchy as if he had poured water directly into his eyes.

He quickly opened them to see Xavier looking over him through the dark. "Malcolm," he said again. He apparently couldn't tell he wasn't awake. Malcolm smiled through the dark.

"I'm alive."

"I knew that much," the vampire scoffed. "So…"

"You were there," Malcolm didn't feel like playing around. It was four in the morning, and his brain was as fuzzy as his vision.

"Yeah, I was there." Xavier wasn't giving in to explaining.

"Why—"

"I could hear the lie in Tonks' voice." Malcolm could hear the smile in the vampire's voice. "She doesn't make for a very good liar."

"You don't make for a very serious person, on my account." What is he doing, he's just going to let this happen, I—

"Remus was the one who let this happen. Tonks is still going to be his, whether or not you two make out in every room in this house," Malcolm could feel his face heat, flush, and all at once cool, "She is still going to be his by the time this is over."

"And…"

Suddenly, Xavier said in a smoothened monotone, "I'm not the only one who knows."

"What?"

—**xlvii**—

Ooh, she was furious—angered by the mere thought of doing this to someone else! A low growl seared her throat, the acid building up in her mouth was horrible and it burned like a son of a bitch, but she was not going to loosen her grip on her emotions, which happened to be very lax at the moment.

She stomped through room after room, cavern after cavern, glancing this way and that at every other crevice in the wall just to see if she would spot the scraggily man she was looking for—

"Well, well, my dear." There it was, his slimy, greased voice trailing up her spine until the finest of fine hairs on her neck prickled at his very presence behind her. She spun wildly to face him, his grotesque yellowed smile, and evilly twinkling, emotionless grey eyes. They were narrowing at her harried appearance at the moment, and she couldn't help but notice in her anger.

"Now what is it, on this… very fine day," he hissed lowly, letting his eyes wander around—to his left and right then to a sudden down at her blouse—as he stepped slowly around her, his hands clasped around his back, "that has you so uptight and in a huff, my dear."

"Don't touch me," she jerked back away from his hand on her chin once he stabilized himself in front of her stilled figure.

"I shall do whatever I please, Miss Lia. Oh, I'm sorry, Miss _Lee_ or… should we use your more _formal_ name; it is your name after all. What, did you think I didn't know… It's simple," his foul breath wafted in her face as he tightly grasped her arm to keep her staring into his eyes. "Of course I knew. I've known. I had to find a way to get back at Malcolm. And you were the key to his heart." The rest of his nightmarish words were drowned out by her quickly paced footsteps echoing around her, off the walls. But even as she ran, no matter _where_ she went, she could not get his disgusting sneer out of her mind…

—**xlviii**—

"That envious _bastard_—Perverted_ asshole_." She couldn't breathe now. What was it that was wrong with her? Remus sat perched upon a rock.

"Lee…" She interrupted him.

"I can't _stand_ him." Her breath hitched softly, "Mother _fucker_."

"Lee, you've got to calm down…"

"I don't have to do shit. I'm going to kill that dumbass, I can't believe it! He's known all along!" Remus watched worriedly from where he was sitting. He wasn't worried for the angered, fuming woman pacing in front of him, he was worried for himself and the wrath he would be under later. "Did I tell you, Remus?"

"What?"

"I've been out on patrol duty. I was wandering near the clearing when I saw your little human passionately snogging someone else."

Remus face crumbled from the worried façade he had been wearing to one of pure devastation. He would have helped in under different circumstances, but the fact that Tonks had actually listened to him… "What? With who?"

"Oh, Remus," she waved him off, "I don't know—I wasn't paying attention. I just knew it was your little nymph."

"Are you sure it wasn't Malcolm?" Remus asked quickly.

The pit of Lee's stomach fell completely through at the name, "What do you mean by Mallie—I mean Malcolm?"

Tentatively, Remus wondered aloud, "Are you Malcolm's Lia?"

"What?"

"Never mind, tell anyone who asks I'm on leave. I'll be back in a few days."

—**xlix**—

"Going to work!"

Xavier leaned around the corner to glance at Tonks standing harassed and hurrying in the sitting room, struggling with her coat, as she tried—failing—to slip her arm in one of the sleeves. The next thing she grappled with, her scarf, was being a little fiercer. Her lips were a pale purple as she waved at him in the hall.

"Don't get lost in the woods!" he called as she shut the door. He wondered how fast her heart would be pounding by the time she stepped down the staircase of the porch.

Malcolm came ambling down the hallway laughing. "Try not to let her heart jump out of her chest. She needs that, you know."

"That was the point," Xavier muttered mercilessly.

"Don't be such a horrible ass, you evil vampire."

Xavier smiled slightly as he walked into the kitchen and perched on the counter. "So what do you want to do?"

"I have absolutely no clue whatsoever!" Malcolm announced.

"Tonks?" The voice intruded into every room in the house.

Xavier looked up. "Remus?"

He replied with an unsteady, "Xavier?"

"Malcolm!"

The vampire walked to the door and opened it. Remus straightened at the sight of the vampire. Xavier muttered flatly to the werewolf behind him, "Shut up."

Malcolm could hear the chuckle.

—**l**—

"What is it?" the silhouetted man snarled. "Oh," he said sickeningly sweetly, "My dear, Lia."

"You son of a bitch," she snarled, walking up to him. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders and… spat directly in his face. "You are a horrible, filthy, disgusting _pig_, Greyback. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant _Gaybeard_." It was in slow motion that he raised his head and slugged her in the gut. She lost all traces of her breath as his claws ripped her shirt and grasped the fine muscles of her stomach. The blood was a divine stench amongst all the other foul smelling things surrounding them. Corpses, still fresh and some rotting, others just mere petrified bones, glowing distinct in the darkness.

"Each one my own masterpiece, each one a human or person I have killed," he whispered, simplifying, "You see, Lia, my art is death, and I'm about to make you my grand finale."

—**li**—

It was in tears and pain and an hour later that Lia found herself as Greyback's gazed leered through the darkness at her broken body. Her throat was raw, she couldn't smell the blood anymore. Her breath was raged and so was the rest of her. Rape, violation, she would kill this bastard for what he had just done to her.

"You violate me, I shall _destroy_ you," Greyback murmured. His voice wasn't rough and coarse as it normally was. It was only for her, and her presence. To haunt her, to break her. She wouldn't make anything easy for this fucking asshole.

"You'll rot in hell, you worthless piece of shit!" she could only hear the syllables of the words, her throat had been ripped out, but why? Greyback loved to be violent, he lived, longed for pain. And that was what she was now—the essence of pain. The very core of her body shouldn't be screaming at her for her idiocy. Her throat should not be ripped and bleeding openly and as profusely as it was.

She had begun screaming as he slapped her, hurt her… raped her. And that was why her throat had been torn out, by his caked, dirty_ yellowed_ nails. His crazy, matted grey hair was a mess above her, and closing her eyes was nothing against it. "I _will_ tear your eyes out." And so it was focusing on the dark ceiling above them with her eyes and mouth open at the bouts of severe pain shocking waves through her body.

I hope to Merlin you get the chance to see this fucker, Malcolm, I want you to kill him for me, she thought silently, promising Greyback that, yes, she would give Malcolm the chance of seeing this fucker to the afterlife.

—**lii**—

"Yeah… About that…" Malcolm tried his hardest to make the situation easier for himself. He had been leaning casually against the soft leather, his arm adorning the back of the couch. Now he was leaning over, his elbows uncomfortably adorning his knees. "It was me… she wanted to… uhm," he explained disjointedly. Remus, though, raised his hand, nodding.

"I understand, I know, I insisted that she go with someone younger, someone like you… instead of me." Remus glanced around the room and his gaze dropped a final degree to the floor.

"Almost," Xavier hinted.

"Yeah, almost." Malcolm studied the other's werewolf's face. "So why did you do it, then? If you didn't want to give her up, why did you do that? You could easily talk to her, care for her, _love_ her, even when you're out doing this mission in the camps. She doesn't care about how old you are or how poor…" Malcolm's eyes wandered along Remus' hands, red and swollen, down his ragged pants to the brightest of cuts tattooed around his ankles. "She cares about _you_," he insisted, pointing out the open, burning wounds all over his body.

"They won't heal… I've had Halloway try over and over—"

Xavier glanced quietly over at Malcolm's suddenly still figure, "_Who_?"

"Just a woman in the camp. She tends to be the healer sometimes, but in my case she practically my _mother_ most of the time… Why?"

What's her first name, _ask_ him, Malcolm, come on, you know you want to hear it… it can't possibly be her. He shook his head to clear the buzzing, annoying thoughts, "What—What's her first name?" he asked shakily. He_ wanted_ to know, yes, but it wasn't… he didn't want to hear about her death if she had even _lived_ after that horrible, gruesome night.

"Lee."

A mutual sigh filled the room with silent relief. He internally sighed himself, but he _still_ wasn't sure. "What does she look like?"

Remus pondered what could've happened for these two to be so closely linked… Malcolm's Lia, could she possibly be Lee? He knew Lee was Greyback's, and _no__ one_ bothered with that. She had been there long before Remus himself, and he didn't—never dared as a matter of fact—ask why, but he wondered, of all _things_,_why_ it would be so important for them both to find out through him, of all _people_. "Uhm…" he began, "Her hair frames her face, it's a light brown, almost blond. I think she dyed it a long time ago. Her eyes are grey, but she wears contacts all the time. They're blue," Remus added.

"What color are her eyes—without them? What do her eyes look like? What color was her hair—without—without the dye," Malcolm asked hurriedly. His heart was working a million times faster, it felt, than his brain, and he continuously stumbled over his words… his heart would explode out of his chest if this answer came down to be the one he was thinking of…

"Her… her eyes?" Malcolm nodded quickly. Remus glanced once, twice, at Xavier, and the vampire gave a short nod in answer that everything was all right and that Malcolm was _not_ crazy, "They're grey without the contacts… like a peppered grey… There's a dark, black ring around the outside of her iris,_ why_?"

Malcolm was immediately up and out of the door—before either of them could speak, he called from the edge of the porch to Xavier, "I'll be back later, if Tonks asks where I've gone, tell her that everything—including me—is all right." With that he left a confused Remus and a lightheaded-from-happiness, triumphant Xavier alone to stand watching from the doorway of the house. And with Xavier's last thought, Malcolm disappeared into the white ambiance beyond them…

Greyback, you shall _finally_ get what you deserve…**  
**

* * *

**TBC **

* * *

_Moony73_


	13. Mesh Merciful

_Mesh Merciful_

* * *

**A/N: To betray or not to betray. That cursed question still remains.**

**And adhere to my explanation of the ending of this story… Just trust me on this.**

**There shall be one more chapter. And it shall be finished!**

**Reviews are welcome and shall receive a reply of their own. Thanks for all your support! **

* * *

**Errors** - First off, I apologize for any written error, as I have gone through each chapter and have looked over the chapters. The first few were overlooked—as I was traveling—though I have given a glance at each and probably missed a few mistakes while going through (this goes as well with all of them), and I apologize for that. 

**My Beta** – My wonderfully dedicated beta, I would definitely love to thank her for helping me, _encouraging_ me, and sharing with me ideas of her own for this very story. I am so glad to have someone helping me—even when I tend to be independent most of the time. We have spent hours conversing over this story, each chapter and character. It is because of my beta that I have several characters playing a part in the story, several events written down, and many corrected errors in each paragraph… I type too fast for my own good at times. But I am pleased to put this person in high regards when it comes to this story and writing in general. Many thanks to the wonderful, _R.L.N.Tonks_!

**Rating** – If the rating was not correct for any amount of time I am sorry for that. I was considering if it should be upped on any particular level or not, but for now it shall remain where it is until I am notified otherwise. I apologize for the grotesque language included in the story, and a few overrated romance scenes between _many_ of the characters, but sometimes you just need it, it sets the mood. ;)

—

**Reviews** – Second, the reviews. It is the use of these quick reviews that I change the story, its plot and its characters. I appreciate _any_ polite note on the matter of this story. Thanks to everyone who's reviewing!

**Flames** – If anyone feels that this piece of fanfiction is indeed "off", unsuitable, or just does not suit your taste—as Xavier would say—flame a review, as I'm always looking forward to correcting my writing just like any other amateur. Any opinion you want to share should be included in a review after all. The things you feel should change in this story are going to be incorporated in following chapters.

**Requests** – If there are some events you would like to see happen between any of the characters, let me know (Xavier, Malcolm, Tonks, etc. etc.). If I, in any way, agree with the _suggested_ changes that should be made to the story line or character composition, they _will_ appear in the following sequel and whomever suggested them will have a character all their own—for the story does expand—however, the number of new characters is excluded to a maximum. I am not, though, releasing the name or the storyline for the next story, (hides)… You will have to wait.

The cliffhanger is to get all thinking about what shall happen next. I had specific reason for leaving it off like that. You shall see more of Tonks and Remus, I assure you.

—

**Reviewers** – And no one shall forget the wonderful reviewers! I would absolutely love to personally thank every single reviewer who taking the time and leaving note on where the story should go or where it needs to be:

_**girl-bluexXxheart-torn**_ – _I would personally like to thank you, for you have made the move of reviewing many of my RL/NT fanfictions and I am delighted to know that I have a fan of the same interest. I appreciate your note._

_**ReviewsGalore**_** – **_The number system you use to "grade" a fic is quite a unique way to review and I was glad to have some sort of graph to work off of as I wrote the story. Thanks for your time!_

_**Belladonna**_ – _Seeing as you've reviewed several times, I am grateful to thank you as such. Your encouragement contributed to several chapters to the story. Up until one in the morning of course, you're tired and don't give a damn about writing, but the reviews… they leave quite a reminder. Thank you!_

_**R.L.N.Tonks**_ – _Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your help! Without your ideas I probably would have never gotten through that mess of chapters. Thank you for helping me with Mrs. Lia Breedlove _Halloway_ and for, once again, being my beta._

_**Akiray**_ – _Thank you, it's always nice to hear that your writing style is enjoyable! I appreciate it. And the certain twist Tonks' relationship with Remus apparently lent the story a little backbone. Thanks!_

_**Pyric**_ –_ We all slack off on reviewing a story we find amusing, and it's perfectly fine with me. I thank you for taking your time with this, and savoring the chapters. I'm glad to find someone else, besides myself, who enjoys focusing on Malcolm and Xavier! And thank you again for your support!_

Every one of who you are supporting this story is uplifting me to do better in my writing. I thank each and every one of you!!

I would also like to thank those who favored/alerted this story as well as messaged me about it!

—

**Characters** – Both Xavier and Malcolm were based off of real people. Malcolm's parents are mine also. Though, I must disclaim Tonks, Remus—Greyback as well—and any other member of _Harry Potter Inc. _for they are not mine and belong deliberately to the wonderful _J. K.__ Rowling_. The third OC, Lia Breedlove, belongs to _R.L.N.Tonks_ as I am very lazy and decided to leave with her the idea for a character all her own, which was included within the story. Coraline was the work of both me and my beta.

**Personal Note** – This story was based off of true events in my life, hence the sole reason it was written. (It is considering that I enjoy setting up and writing RL/NT based stories that these specific characters were chosen from _Harry__ Potter_.)

**Nymphadora Tonks** – Tonks seemed the best option for the main character. Her playing the main part in this story let me play around with the idea of illustrating one of my actual friend's points of view in a regular fanfiction. Nymphadora Tonks does not, though, belong to me in anyway. I just wrote the story with the help of my beta. The idea was a small one at first and soon grew to include many characters, as you know. It was just on the brink of complete and utter boredom that this story was created and included Tonks. I am both surprised and delighted that it has grown to be more than just a boredom project and it is thanks to_ J. K. Rowling _this story was even possible… copyrights to wonderful JKR.

**Remus**** Lupin** – Remus does not belong to me either. He was included in the story to illustrate my point of view in my life. He does not belong to me in anyway no matter how great and awesome he it. He belongs to _J. K. Rowling_ all the way, she owns copyrights. It was only by chance that I wrote this and he became a part of it. Cheers for Remus!

**Fenrir Greyback (Furry Gaybeard)** – Every story has to have a bad guy, and though none of the abuse or violence he takes part in through the story actually happened, he does a good job playing the role of the bad guy. For the most part, the story was set along the lines of book 6 and through part of book 7 and this is why he is featured. It is because of my beta that the nickname Gaybeard stuck with me. Of course, Fenrir Greyback does _not_ belong to me. Copyrights go to, duh, _J. K. Rowling_.

**Fred & George Weasley** – I could _not_ resist giving up the chance to use them in this story. I absolutely adore the twins and their personalities. But they are only included in this story for a short period of time, and they don't belong to me. Once again, they are a creation of JKR.

**Kingsley Shacklebolt** – His part in the story was short, yeah, but I couldn't keep myself from including him. He took the place of my friend Chasity, who was always there when either myself or the main character needed her. I'm glad to involve her in the story. He does appear more in later chapters.

**Author's Note** – The above characters belong to me in no way, they are copy-righted property of _J. K. Rowling's, Harry Potter_, for the final time... The following characters, however, _do_ belong to me and a few are my beta's as well.

**Xavier Black** – Xavier's appearance was based mostly from the appearance of_ Gary__ Oldman_ in the third _Harry __Potter_ movie. His personality was from a friend, Will. The facts on the vampire were from a reliable source. It is because of this we have a very large amount of content in this story.

**Malcolm Halloway** – Malcolm was based off of no one appearance-wise. A sketch here or there and he was completely involved in the story. His personality was from another friend, Jacob. The details and information on the werewolf were from the same source.

**Lia Breedlove/Lee Halloway** – Lia's appearance was wholly on _R.L.N.Tonks'_ account, for it is _her_ character. Both appearances—of long, blonde hair, peppered grey eyes, and short, face-framing brown hair and blue eyes—are from_ R.L.N.Tonks_. Her personality is based from my beta herself. The twist in the story involving Lia going by the name Lee Halloway was a work of _R.L.N.Tonks_ as well. It was just my job to incorporate her into the story.

**Jacob Halloway **– His introduction to this story gets larger with every upcoming chapter. Don't worry, there will be more of him. His name was derived from my friend, Jacob, of course, but his personality on the whole was based off of me in a way.

**Coraline Black** – Coraline was, on the most part, my own work. Her appearance was based on another friend, Kaitlyn. The twist that Coraline was a part of was an unoriginal idea that grew to be part of the story. The idea for a blood compound was never staged, just suddenly thrown in and introduced. Xavier's memories were in no way actual events in someone's life.

—

**Events**/**Content** – Events in this story were from _me_ and my beta, _R.L.N.Tonks_. The child abuse that was aimed Malcolm was in no way a real event… to me or anyone I know. All the vampire/werewolf facts came from a reliable source that was in no way a part of the internet. Any setting you've read about from the _Harry__ Potter_ books, of course, does _not_ belong to me. Tonks' apartment was an actual floor plan, as a matter of fact, thanks to a couple friends of mine. Each of the places mentioned within the forests are real, just not located in the U. K. (They have been visited many a time by me, and therefore I incorporated them into the story.) Several quotes were from friends, including _R.L.N.Tonks_ and myself.

And, yes, I have seen houses with green carpeting…

**Story**/**Chapter Titles** – It just goes to show what boredom can bring you. The idea for this story was a small one, just like the first and second chapters, and I never thought it would go this far. Again, I'd love thank those who took the time reading, reviewing, helping, or just enjoying the story, (if it weren't for the readers there would be no story in the first place). And because I was traveling at the time, I was staying in a hotel (hence, the length of the first several chapters). The title for the story was, of course, based off of the first few chapters, (White _Velvet_, Ebony _Silk_, and so on and so forth.) Names were derived from fabrics and also the feelings Tonks was going through throughout each chapter.

If you noticed, I was aiming for something a little original.

* * *

**FIN & TBC **

* * *

_Moony73 & R.L.N.Tonks_


	14. Torn Fabric Hearts

_Torn Fabric Hearts _

* * *

**A/N: This story is dedicated to mending the presently torn hearts of each character—real and fictional alike.**

**

* * *

**Of all the troubles in your life that you shall go through, relationships are the best and the worst of yourself. For once you become part of a relationship, you spilt yourself in half. You devote yourself to someone else's needs and opinions. And once they _shove_ that part of you right back in your face, that part of you deteriorates and is worn well away. The remaining half of you is wallowed in the pain of being turned down and away. So—once you go through the troubles and happiness of a relationship and crash and burn when it's over… do you die? 

Your heart can be symbolized of the simplest of things… your thoughts… feelings, emotions… your personality… things you love, people you know and talk to… your style—the clothes you wear—fabric. And it is because of this instance of fabric being involved, that it should be quite easy to mend a broken heart.

1.) It is essential to know the heart records moments in time… moments it suffers through, moments it feels overjoyed. And it is only through time that your heart becomes your own history.

It is important to learn how to save the fabric—or your heart—when in doubt. Is it in peril or danger of being ruined or crushed? Is it gone—disappeared without a trace? Is it hidden beyond recognition, to the point that no one can ever see the patterns of the past in it? Many hidden meanings are indeed _lost_ within fabric, for its many layers of recorded years and owners become etched into the threads it is made of, the very core of its existence. And if one wears fabric with greed it tends to wear… but sometimes the glory of fabric is hidden in time and only time unlocks the treasures.

Time dedicated to a relationship may unlock even the most wary of lovers. So only the devoted are the best as this step in mending someone else's broken heart.

2.) Are you in love with the fabric? Would you wear it anywhere you go? That could be the same with a person… you love them for their personality, and you want them to be with you—forgive you and stay by your side no matter what… but what happens when fabric bursts? What happens when a heart is full to bursting with so many emotions? You fix it unless it's unfixable… it has happened… It's like life… Want to know how?

Dedication… devotion… determination… those are the only ways to mend something broken. You must admire whatever it is that has been broken—you must dedicate yourself to mending it—and you must be determined to keep what you fixed, whole.

3.) When composing a simple thread, or even the most complicated piece of fabric… it is good to know the story _behind_ it. You must also understand the feeling of fabric, familiarize yourself with the type, the weight—these are the characteristics, and they also comply with one's personality and traits— and because fabric is like a heart… it has many conditions—many of which including, poor, strong, weak, wet, resistant, and, ha!—wouldn't you know it! Aggravating!

Love is aggravating, but you must remember that half of yourself had gone into this love. Once a piece of fabric is torn in two, you become one of those halves. You may compose a new half to start over with, but you must make another complete and whole you before you can do that, otherwise you will be dividing you life once more.

4.) "One sees clearly _only_ with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes." —The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint

* * *

**TBC **

* * *

_R.L.N.Tonks_


	15. Flattering Flannel

_Flattering Flannel_

* * *

**A/N: To betray or not to betray…**

* * *

It was four hours later and standing still and hesitant in front of that very cabin door that he froze... Maybe he could just wait.

No! he screamed at himself. He would not run from the past. That was stupid. He had run once, he would not do it again. Lia… Maybe Lia… but no, she wasn't there. He knew the moment he tried looking in the dusted over windows, into the darkened house itself that he knew she wasn't there. Disappointed, he softly, quietly as possible, tried to make his way into the house.

Tears hadn't formed in his eyes yet and that was a good sign. There were footprints etched like soft memories into the dust that had settled everywhere. He ran a finger along the piano keys that belonged to the small piano in the corner of the sitting room. He remembered the sweet songs Lia would play for him while he was sick, or just wanted to listen to her… "_I want to play for you, Mallie_."

"_Alright, play something for_ me." And she would do just that. He was amazed at the wonderful job she could do with executing the music into the room—he remembered how he smiled—how her beautiful, slender, talented fingers would play right into his heart, his soul. He couldn't help but enjoy it then.

But now as the pitiful notes of a long-since-dead song crept deadly on the wood floor beneath him, he couldn't stop himself from turning away. The pain of remembrance was too much. He didn't want to hear _their_ song. Lia wasn't here for him to bring closer, to play him until happiness entered the dismal room, she wasn't here... not to make the sadness and pain go away. She wasn't there. No, he repeated once more, she's not going to be here until I get her back from that _bastard_.

Grimacing, he turned slowly toward the fireplace.

He saw Lia there, waiting for him, smiling up at _him_. Her heart was open and he couldn't believe it. His nostrils flared and tears burned his eyes. "No, dammit," he whispered weakly. His voice was too much and it brought back more memories.

"_No, dammit, I want to sit next to _you," Lia muttered quietly, stubbornly, as she softly stomped her foot on the wood floor in front of him. He sat, elbows on knees in front of the merry fire, the light shining on her, shadowing over her face, making her eyes sparkle mischievously…

"_Come here._" She sat on his lap gently and he took her with him as he leaned back into the pleasant warmth of the couch and into her body as well. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he kissed her deeply. "_Mmm, I love you, you know that_," she whispered softly… Malcolm buried his head in his hands as he sat there thinking through the cloud of dust and thoughts. He couldn't stand it… he couldn't. He wildly looked around, searching for something anything, that could possibly _end_ the pain… end it _all_, for Christ's sake, he told himself quietly. I still have to find Lia, but what if she found me here dead?

No, don't think like that… He could hear her voice in his head. Please, don't do that to me, Malcolm.

He stood quickly up at the sound, wandering around frantically about the room. He couldn't believe this. His eyes searched around the room until his boot came crashing down on something. _Crunch_. He heard that. What was it? He swiftly removed his foot from whatever offending object was in the floor. A picture… with a now broken glass pane…

It was himself… with Lia standing in front of the window, smiling her heart out at the camera. She opened her eyes after the frame flashed brightly and waved at him. His picturesque figure turned toward her, kissed her on the cheek and he remembered asking her some offhand question. It was then after that she had moved him to the bedroom and locked him in.

Now he wondered exactly why. Picking up the small fragile frame, he focused on the picture. As he picked it up, the picture itself slid out from the grip of the frame and floated like a broken feather to the floor, its dusted grave.

He let his eyes lower a moment before tenderly picking up the picture. The ends of his fingers made Lia look up and smile as she reached out to him and laughed silently. It made him smile softly, but it didn't bring a laugh… more so another painful pang as his eyes burned again. He couldn't believe this… he was _strong_. But he loved Lia… _his_ Lia. She was so… precious to him.

And as he held the picture up to the slimy light filtering into the room, he found that the light caught something written on the back… His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he read what it said. But he couldn't really believe it…

—**liv**—

_Me, me being Lia, and my love, Mallie!  
At our winter cabin, in N. England  
We were just married a year ago, and still _very_ much in love!  
And though you can't tell, I'm 3 months _pregnant_!  
But, shh, _DON'T_ tell Mallie!!  
He doesn't know yet!_

Her elegant handwriting through the darkness reached out to him, practically glowed just as his eyes… she, _his_ Lia… they were going—she had been—

"A baby," he said throughout the tears that blinded him. He suddenly didn't have the strength to wipe them away. His _own_ child… how he had longed to be a father… to look after his own "_pup_"… He smiled at the word. Lia… Lia had always made fun of him, and how cute a child, _their_ child, would be. She had always taunted and made fun, and he remembered her once telling him it was adorable that he longed to be a father… that he would do excellent as a father.

He had never caught on with it, but looking upon the subject now, Lia _had_ dropped hints. And he remembered her stunned, speechless, smiling face as he uncovered her eyes and showed her what he had done with that _bare_ corner. It was then he stood and walked over to that very spot to his right… someone else's footprints had long ago made their way over to the small crib, but he didn't acknowledge them as he recalled Lia laughing at the idea…

The sad song from the piano's bleeding nails that dripped over his very emotions as he stared blankly down into the vacant space was overwhelming. Lia had learned few, depressed dark songs, but the ones she did were very dramatic and heart-wrenching…

The light melody intertwined with the sounds of a baby's laugh.

He let his tears fall silently, let his ears soak up the song and the sounds of his own child, his fingers lightly stroked the flowing flannel lining the bottom of the small bed in reminiscence. His voice had surrendered to the song flittering sad amongst the thickness of the atmosphere. He felt suffocated, but he did absolutely nothing to stop the tears from coming.

The tears were every little memory that could have been, and Malcolm pondered for a moment what everything _could've_ been. What would Lia have been like pregnant? A baby, what would _that_ have been like? Smiling everyday at the sight of his own _child_… his face made no effort to try escaping the hold of choking, smothering sadness. For his life could have been so much more.

And yet… it wasn't.

—**lv**—

Lia gasped.

Air… Air couldn't… to her lungs—she couldn't breathe… No, don't do this… Malcolm, I love you, she thought uselessly. If there was one thing she wanted more than her own life, it would be to see Malcolm one last time, and if she couldn't have that, her last thoughts would be of love… of her love for him. And that life they should have had—love, she stuttered in her thoughts while her body shivered, I love you, Malcolm Halloway.

Another gasp…

And that was all.

—**lvi**—

"Come on, come on!" Tonks stomped down hall after hall, dodging confused owls and hurrying—probably late, caffeine-deprived—ministry workers alike while her combat boots echoed on the floor and the walls around her.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, where the hell _are_ you?!" she asked under her breath to the numerous people pushing past.

"His office is unlocked!" someone called.

"Thank you!" Tonks responded. "Too bad I need _Kingsley_ and not his _office_…" she muttered. It was also too bad she had already passed it with no sight of him. _I have a question that needs an answer, Kingsley, come _on.

—**lvii**—

_Thump_. Malcolm was still and silent until he heard that.

_Thump_. There it was again.

_Thump_. Someone was outside.

_Thump_. His heart pounded, raced, ran a marathon all at once.

_Thump_. Someone was trying to get into the cabin.

Malcolm raced toward the kitchen, to his right, around the pool table, as he slid on a rug that had absolutely no grip on the floor, and his body slammed tightly into the stove. His hand slipped on the dial and two burners came to life. The smoke that flittered up and to the ceiling made him realize his black sweater had been charred. No flames came… thank God, he thought. Grabbing a quick breath through the storm of dust and holding it in until he became dizzy, he glanced out the window and walked quickly over to the largest of the windows.

It was a bay and it ran along the far wall in the parlor. After a quick glance he made his way back to where he had began the fast-paced search, down the couple steps and into the premises of the sitting room. The whole house was spacey and open, but he didn't like that privilege now. There were many windows in the cabin and he didn't understand why he couldn't find the source of the sound—

Someone's face was surfacing up above the bottom of the window pane.

And it was Lia, with brown eyes and curled long blonde hair. The brow was surely curved, but the boy's nose was pointed. His lips were thinned like Lia's but… his face held _Malcolm's_ features, of high cheekbones and even a smattering of facial hair. This was…

An angered child, for once the kid saw through the grimy windows to Malcolm's shocked, electrified figure, his face turned from serene and smooth to infuriated anger. What. The. Hell?

Malcolm could only move the shortest of moments before the window was smashed in and the figure intruded quickly upon the werewolf's position. Claws sank into his shoulder, and he clenched his teeth against the pain. "Don't ever turn your back on a pursuer." The venomous voice leaked into his ears while he fell to the floor in defeat. This kid couldn't be anymore than sixteen and he had just taken down a thirty-six year old werewolf.

The tender tendon along the top of his shoulder throbbed. His ripped away his sweater while he sat up to inspect the damage—he also inspected the teenager standing cautiously away from the disgruntled werewolf.

"What's your name," Malcolm demanded.

"Not until I have yours," the kid countered reasonably.

"Look," Malcolm snarled as he stood quickly up, "I didn't come here to take shit from a sixteen year old." He paused threateningly, willing the kid to say something more, "I came here to find my _wife_. Now what the hell is your name and give me a damn fucking good reason you just shredded my right shoulder." His voice grew colder, but his eyes glowed warmly in the bubbling anger. One more move… and he'd explode under the pressure of not having Lia there with him.

The kid looked down at his shoes. "I didn't mean to hurt your shoulder. My aim is off, I'm still learning—"

Malcolm once again clenched his teeth tightly. "Kid… I want your name before you start off with being innocent," he simplified.

"Jacob," was the fact response. "But I didn't mean to strike your shoulder. I wasn't aiming there… I mean…"

"You were just trying to take me down, I understand. Well," Malcolm paused, "It worked. I'm down." No laughter came from either side of the room, but Malcolm was wondering what exactly Xavier would think of the situation… the kid _did_ look a lot like Lia. So what if…

"What's your last name?"

"My—my father's name is Greyback, but my mother insists I go by Halloway. My father's disowned of me, so I use her name instead." Malcolm was stunned completely.

"Why does he disown you, then, if he's your father? You're both werewolves, so that's unethical, don't you think?"

"My mother hasn't quite explained that to me yet. I don't know why he does. He's a Death Eater—I mean—"

"I know who Fenrir Greyback is, you don't have to explain," Malcolm said darkly.

"Well, he's my father, but he's always disowned me…"

"What's your _mother's_ name, then?" Malcolm clarified. It would be so simple… he was sure it was going to be the name that had been pounding in his head for the past two days.

"She told me she was married a long time ago," the boy said, stammering lightly. "But she never told me to whom. She's never even told me her maiden name, if she has one…"

The boy continued on, but Malcolm could only roll his eyes… and laugh. He laughed—cackled even—once the memory came back to him. It wasn't until the memory actually floated back into the house itself that he stopped laughing and focused on the memory playing like that of a movie in front of him. Silence fell over him as if he were in a pensieve… the laughter hung in the air lightly, and the werewolf couldn't help smile at his own, once-upon-a-time happiness.

—**lviii**—

"_Malcolm_," Lia giggled, "_I can't dance! I didn't even let my dad do this with me… how are you possibly going to teach me—I mean…_"

He pulled the giggling Lia closer to his own body and she stopped rambling, distracted by their proximity to each other. Snow was falling outside, the creek outside—just a few yards beyond the hills, lining the boundary of their yard—was still flowing freely and quickly throughout their happiness, and Christmas was here.

Malcolm couldn't keep himself from laughing gently and deeply as he twirled Lia around and around while they both stepped around the sitting room. The small settee that lined the farthest wall from the door was their downfall, because Malcolm was pushed down by Lia, the backs of his calves buckling against the softness of the little couch.

His laughter and Lia's mingled together while their breath shortened through all the chuckling and giggled. It was Lia on top of the strong werewolf and her lips that cut off the smallest of remaining sounds of happiness. Malcolm's hands positioned themselves gently on the end of her back and it was there they stroked as he leapt into the gesture.

A moment later and Lia was leaning up, looking down at him and laughing. "_Come on! Let's dance!_" she said merrily, unmoving from her position on top of the werewolf. Malcolm wrapped his sinewy arms around her hips and he raised himself and her petite body up.

It was just as her legs gripped his hips the he started spinning gently. He grasped her rump and she squirmed, giggling. "_Malcolm_," she squealed through all the giggles.

"_What_?" he asked innocently. Lia's lips on his once again made him stop moving. In front of the Christmas tree they stood, their lips locked. It was Lia once again who leaned out of the kiss and smile, her face glowing in the merriment. But it was Malcolm who kissed her forehead and leaned against hers with his own forehead, their breath softly mingling as he smiled just as brightly back at her.

It was Malcolm who whispered, smiling, "_Merry Christmas, love_."

—**lix**—

Jacob was stammering and rambling and going on and on just as Lia did when she was unsure or nervous. And he couldn't help but laugh, for it was in thi very room she did it, with him twirling her around and around.

"You know," he said pensively, as he smiled lightly and stood, "I think you ought to see something…"

The boy, _Jacob_, he reminded himself, his name is Jacob… and if he's my son… he beamed at the thought. His boots rested firmly of the darkened floor. The boy stood silhouetted against the light, his pallid face shining against the brightness of the snow shimmering in through the broken window. Malcolm looked up at him for a moment, and then back down at the picture still lying dead on the floor. It was when he heard Jacob outside that it had been tossed back down into the blanket of dust, after the dust had fallen quiet to the floor and landed atop the picture.

His had dusted off the remnants of his panic and he straightened up as he studied the picture and walked over to the young werewolf. He couldn't believe the boy's eyes when they grew in size.

Yes! Malcolm thought, Lia is still _alive_!

—**lx**—

It had been several hours since Xavier had glanced at the clock mounted against the wallpapered wall in the kitchen and it was several hours later that he looked up and the clock—through the haze of the evening—ticked a final:

**10:47**

And Xavier was off down the hallway. He peered into Tonks' room, at the exhausted Remus asleep on top of the covers, his ripped clothes flowing around him. Xavier turned and stepped lightly on the wood floor of the bedroom.

"_Hey_." Xavier blinked quietly.

"_I know you're here, what do you want_?" The soft voice made him stop immediately. What was he doing?

"_I don't want anything, darling_." Why was he reliving his hell of a life?

"_So why do you keep coming back to this place? There's supposed to be some suicidal maniac running it, he's supposed to be letting everyone kill themselves, not hole themselves up away from their parents_."

"_You remember what I told you_?" he questioned softly. The girl's innocent voice shook as she turned her head to him in the darkness, her eyes sparkled vibrant blue, her lips a rosy pink, her face made from pale the moonlight shimmering in from the open window as the wind blew the pallid silk curtains, exploring with its chilled touch.

"_No, Xavier, I don't_."

She had been so young when they had first met a human of twenty-three, young and beautiful and shunned by everyone that loved her. He didn't understand why someone would rape a three year old little girl, why a parent would slap a small defenseless child around—a beautiful little girl nonetheless. It wasn't really slapping, more so touching and sometimes even brutalizing her. But it was now she had been "_saved_". Xavier shook his own head at the term.

Saved was a little much to say for where they both were now. She was going to kill herself, for lack of a better term, the vampire simplified, she was going to let someone _else_ kill her.

"_The man who runs this compound is a homicidal maniac_…" And the girl didn't believe him. How ignorant humans were, he said to himself in condescension. "_Coraline_," he whispered, lying down next to the woman's curved body, letting her very name flow off of the tip of his tongue and into the darkness that hugged the both of them, "I'm supposed to kill you…" he paused on the very edge of the idea of absolution, of telling the truth to a puny _human_, and that was where he had first gone wrong…

"I'm a vampire."

—**lxi**—

"Kingsley! _You_!"

"Me?" Kingsley gestured to himself, the most idiotic, puzzled expression on his face as his deep, dark voice resonated on the walls.

"Yes, _YOU_!" Tonks screamed. People turned to see what was going on. They only glanced for the merest of seconds once they realized who was screaming. It was, of course, Nymphadora Tonks, angered, flustered, and in dire need of an answer to a question. "I have a question that needs and answer, and you're just the man for the job," Tonks muttered, lowering her voice.

She gripped the collar of Kingsley's robes and dragged him into the office just across the hall. She didn't give a shit who it belonged to… she had a damned question!

"How far will a werewolf go to find someone he cares for, someone he hasn't seen in years?" Kingsley could only blink…

"Look, if this is about Remus—"

"No, no, _no_!" Tonks waved her hands around her faced as if she were trying to wave a fly… to Kingsley… she looked insane. "This is _not_ about Remus. He's told me to look for someone else so I am. I'm worried about someone else. So tell me… _ANSWER_ me."

"Why do you want to—"

"Answer me, dammit!" Malcolm could probably be dead by now at the hands of Greyback. She didn't know where the hell the stupid idiot had planned to go in the first place just that she had gone home only to return to the ministry…

"I don't know! Where does he live?"

—**lxii**—

It was once Tonks had returned to her home from the ministry with an actual answer that Remus had appeared from her room… "What are you—"

"Tonks…" Remus face fell to the floor immediately as if he had just been discovered as a little boy, stealing cookies from the cookie jar. The only thing Tonks could think was, _What the hell is he doing here_? And it was soon answered as Xavier looked up from a book, sitting in his favorite spot on the closest couch.

"He came here to see you… He found—"

"I came back to apologize—"

"I don't need your damn apologies, Remus—"

"Tonks—"

"Shut up, Xavier," Tonks commanded, it was the when the vampire leaned into the couch, smooth and suave, and waited for her words to appear in the thin air of the room.

"Well…"

"I said shut up," she repeated to the laidback vampire. Tonks stepped closer to Remus. "If you came all the way here just because you found something out…" She paused, thinking about just _why_ Remus—of all the reasons in the world—was here. "Why are you _really_ here?"

"I—I came back to apologize… for being an idiot," he added. "I didn't want you to leave or find someone else. I just want what's best for you…"

"Well you tell me…" Tonks muttered calmly. She stepped up to the old werewolf, lifted his chin, and kissed him softly, biting his lower lip gently as his lips pressed back. The moment Remus tried to kiss her just as softly, she jerked away and ran down the hall.

The sound of a bedroom door slamming echoed throughout the house left Remus feeling empty… so empty and bereft. But it was Xavier who noticed that it had not been Tonks' own bedroom she had run into. The hysterical panic in her tears made her turn into his room, and it was against the door, he knew, she slid as she roughly landed against the hard floor.

She sat sobbing what seemed like forever, and the only one to be blamed was Remus.

—**lxiii**—

_Whap_!

"Shut up! I _know_ you're a vampire, now go to _sleep_, dammit!" Tonks screamed. Why did it always have to be something hard? Xavier wondered.

**11:56**

The clock blinked back at the vampire as he rose to stare at the bright red numbers. It had only been an hour of sleep and he was already dreaming of Coraline… he could have sworn he had just stepped into the room to lie down next to Tonks. But apparently not… It was four hours after Remus and Tonks had fought, two after Remus had finally decided to turn in and close the door to Tonks' room behind him.

But it had only been an hour since he had actually slept… and he had dreamt of his Coraline… dammit, again.

"What did I say?"

"Shut up!" Tonks said coldly.

"What did I say?" Xavier insisted. The pillow struck his face again and through his sudden silence he heard Tonks get up in a huff. He looked up as he threw the pillow away from himself. Tonks carried her own pillow between her crossed arms and her chest. Her feet shuffled across the floor and she opened the door and closed it again quietly behind her.

Crossing the hall, she entered her own room. Xavier could only listen as Remus voice erupted from the silence.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sleeping in here," Tonks said, that was the end of that and they would not argue about it.

"Why?"

The vampire couldn't help but smile at the next line, he may not have said anything about Coraline or his past on purpose but it helped and he was happy about it…

"Because Xavier doesn't know when to shut up."

—**lxiv**—

"You—You're my father?" Jacob asked, stuttering at the revelation.

"My name is Malcolm Halloway. That," Malcolm pointed at Lia in the picture, "Is my wife… and your mother, isn't that right?"

A silent nod and Malcolm was beaming crazily. He couldn't believe this… In one moment he was hugging the boy lightly, the next all he knew was that the walls of the house hadn't corroded at all, for this specific one was hard against his back…

"_Don't_," Jacob warned, "Touch me."

With a sigh, Malcolm gave in. "Just tell me where Lia is."

—**lxv**—

"It's through this way…" Jacob stepped lightly through the woods just behind the cabin.

"They've started recruiting this far north?" Malcolm wondered.

"Yeah," Jacob said blankly. "I was just out on scouting duty when I realized this house was here. I'm ordered to take down and bring back anyone who lives on the boundaries of the forest…"

"They make you do the hard work, in other words… Why? You can't possibly be able to immobilize anyone who has a gun. You said yourself you're still training to be better when it comes to attacking."

"Like I said, my dad… I mean…" Jacob paused. Just like Lia, he was just like Lia.

"Greyback," Malcolm said, smiling.

"Yeah… Greyback." It was in silence they walked and suddenly Jacob burst, "That mother _fucker_!"

"What?"

"He said he was my dad, that my sister was my sister… he _raped_ my mom—"

Outrage overflowed Malcolm's voice, and it came out as a tight, constricted, "What?!"

Jacob picked up the fast pace of a run, "Come on…" He paused as Malcolm sped up alongside him.

"No, we have to get Xavier…" Malcolm turned quickly around. "Can you turn at will?"

"I've been able to do that ever since I could remember," Jacob said, his breath shortening with every word. "I think—that's the only reason—Greyback kept me…"

As a pet, Malcolm thought angrily. "You can explain on the way there… come on," Malcolm said just as his voice turned to a growl and he fell lowly against the ground in mid-run.

A howl resounded through the forest, through Malcolm's anger, and with his son he disappeared into the white of the forest.

—**lxvi**—

Remus had gone. Tonks was silent in her room, probably sleeping, but Xavier wasn't sure. The dreams he couldn't possibly escape from kept him conscious throughout the night.

"She's got to be alive…" Xavier whispered, his head lowered, hair flattering his face, covering his eyes from the sunlight that dared enter past the heavy black curtains. "I never have dreams about her unless… unless… there's something good happening."

Xavier couldn't quite believe the level he had stooped to, but it didn't help himself at all—for Coraline was certainly dead. They had killed her, ripped her heart out and stomped on it in the floor… or maybe, just maybe they had kept it. He didn't know, most definitely didn't want to know, but the thought of her being alive.

"Don't be insane… don't lose it _again_ like with Malcolm." The anger at himself simmered just above the surface. It wouldn't take much more until he exploded beneath the weight of sickening reality. Coraline is dead, he told himself once more without moving from his spot, seated at the foot of the bed. And that's it… she's _dead_.

Light and happy bird song flittered and fluttered in through the open window. Snow littered the ground, blanketing the world still. The vampire wondered when the grass would be visible again, when the bone chilling cold of winter would go away. But for now the cold would have to do. He much rather preferred hot, but cold would do.

It didn't much matter. He didn't care for anything anymore. Tonks and Remus weren't going to makes up their minds—Remus would never stop being a jackass even when he could at least try to hammer some sense into the vampire's head—Lia was still alive, he knew, but would Malcolm be able to get her back? And Coraline, he was still having fucking nightmares, but they weren't going to go away until things worsened for him. Something good was going to happen… he sensed it, the nightmares explained everything… but what?

His shook his head. He couldn't help but think, about his beautiful innocent Coraline. He had kissed her neck once, her lips over and over, claimed her once as the bite on her neck was enough to make her swoon. But there had been other vampires besides himself… five others to be exact.

Feeding off her breasts, molesting her and raping her through many a sob during the longest of nights… the only sweetness she was granted were the small kisses he had dropped upon her neck during every process. Xavier looked down at the floor, to his feet, in shame at the fact that he had never tried to help his beloved human. A "toy" the called her… to him she was much more.

But he could have always kept the others from biting her. Licking up the blood… he could still her blood dripping on his lips, the softness of his fingertips barely tickling her skin. He remembered her breathy giggles through the darkness while he let the barest traces of his breath snake around her ear teasingly.

But the past was something he refused to live in… it was absurd. Coraline was dead. That was that and no one else like her could be his to cherish.

The bed, that huge bed… it served only one purpose and that was for her own torture. Well, it was exactly torture. A vampire bite only hurt for so long afterwards, and the orgasm the victim suffered from being drained of their memory was enough to make them pass out, let alone considering the probable amount of blood the human lost in a matter of seconds. But his own head hurt as he thought about it. Why hadn't he helped her?

He didn't understand. He had always been chosen to be the first candidate when it came to turning a freshly caught human. He never understood that one either, but each victim he had claimed the life of, he couldn't remember their human name, their vampyric number, or even their face. His job as a vampire had always been easy… Turn then, get it over with, forget that you ever met them. But Coraline, his beloved Coraline, sitting their while blood caked her bare body… just sitting there, lying with her as the rest of those _parasitic monsters_ fed off of her body… he didn't understand… why hadn't he helped her?

Maybe it had been the fact that every vampire in the compound had been a part of his family. They shared a blood pact. But wasn't love for someone else stronger than a simple blood relationship? He had thought so then, but never had he plucked up the guts to surrender the position of being there at every human-turning event. He had been the one to feed of the blood of innocence, skin tingling beneath his waiting, wet warm lips. So it was unethical… so unethical. They weren't going to turn her… just kill her. That was all she wanted. And so they just got another meal while the puny little human toy got what she wanted. But never once had Xavier tried to stop them… It was what Coraline wanted. And if it made her happy, all the guilt in the world Xavier suffered from wouldn't stop the other vampires from fulfilling her wish.

—**lxvii**—

"Hey," Tonks' voice was for once soft.

Xavier looked up from his thoughts of pallid, soft and beautiful Coraline and turned to Tonks standing in the doorway. Her eyes were rimmed in red and Xavier immediately worried about what was wrong instead of worrying about what was already screwed up.

"Hey, what is it?" he asked softly. She didn't move from where she stood in the doorway, grasping a while pillow tightly against her cerulean blue shirt.

"You know," she muttered as she looked around the brightened, white room, and she smiled helplessly, it came out as a sobbing cough, "You _never_ know when to shut that big mouth of yours…"

"What is it, Tonks?" Xavier finally turned toward her as he raised his head thoughtfully.

"Remus… Remus is such an _ass_," she spat bitterly. Tonks explain quietly about the morning she had shared with the werewolf. Sleeping with her back turned away from him, his hands barely resting on her hips. It was Tonks who had done nothing about the simple contact, and it was Tonks who had been awoken by Remus at four in the morning.

"_What_?"

"_I'm going to leave_," the soft voice was a wisp in the darkness. Tonks could only shrug closer to the warmth that enveloped the blankets and her body.

"_Don't leave, Remus… Don't go again_."

"_I have to. I can't be on leave for more than a day. I'll be back soon. I promise_."

"_Come back in an hour, okay. Just so I can get an actual goodbye out of you_…" she muttered, letting the pleasant heat seep out of the bed as small tendrils crawled beneath the covers to grasp her body. She shivered just as Remus closed the door behind him. It was in the next few minutes he left the house and left her completely alone.

She stood leaning against the wall, explaining now. "It's been more than an hour," she added.

"It's ten o'clock, love," Xavier said quietly. The tears welled in Tonks' eyes. "Hey," the vampire whispered softly. The light lined the black of Xavier's baggy shirt and the comfortable jeans he was wearing. "It's okay," he took her in his arms and she silently laid her head on his shoulder, her eyes facing toward the open window and the soaring birds outside.

Their sad song remained in her ears even after the disappeared. Snow blanketed the ground and she wondered how soon it would be before the grass was visible again. She resented the thought that soon enough warmth would reenter the world and bring everything back to life. Tonks didn't have to worry about what she was screwing up with now, she's would soon have to figure out what had already been fucked up. For warmth would return, yes, everyone would be happy and cheerful. And she hated that.

The cold outside deadened her feelings. It killed her completely and she didn't mind at all.

—**lxviii**—

Blurry. The street lights were blurry for a reason of which Xavier didn't quite understand nor care to inspect. Their glowing, buzzing bulbs whirled in his sight every time he turned or moved his head to a different angle and it only seemed to make him think of this place another dream. You know not of your own dreams, reality is too dreamlike to be real, dreams are too real to be fake… so why do I feel real and fake at the same time?

The vampire wondered, wandering down the sidewalk in a dazed-like state. No one's eyes fell upon him for the shops and buildings he passed were vacant and dark. The same went for the blackened road to his right. No cars were pulled along the edge of the sidewalk, headlights didn't intrude upon his figure as if they would have, had several passing cars flown by.

But all was silent. Nothing was there to ruin the tranquility of the plastic dreamlike phase he was trapped in. London, he thought immediately, I've got to be in London. He had looked around already, once, twiceseveral times actuallyand the whereabouts of where he was, surroundings, nothing opened up to him… it was just another reason he was led to believe he was trapped in another dream and refused to wake up from the mysteriousness of it all.

It was moments later that someone, their back turned to him, appeared out of the bleak atmosphere. And he sped his pace up to find out just exactly would be there when absolutely nothing else was. No, no, it can't possibly be… Xavier paused in thought, but his feet didn't stop at all. It was the longing that kept him going… It's can't possibly be you…

Only when he tripped from walking so quickly did he figure out that, no, this was no dream, his mind wasn't so exhausted that it had begun playing tricks on him… this was actually real, and reality was screwing around with his head right at this moment…

It was a woman who stood, hair flowing in the night's softened, thick, creamy breath, and her black clad body covered completely, besides her pallid, smooth legs and the black heels she wore. Once he had looked her over, she had turned to him… he couldn't believe it.

"Coraline," he whispered to the wind. Her brightened blue eyes were glittering black stones against the monotonous buzzing of the lit, white streetlamps. She did not smile at his presence, only raise her eyes to his and stare blankly.

"Xavier," she replied softly, as if she had expected him for longs hours at a time only to be let down by the loneliness of the night.

"You're not human?" It wasn't the matter of the statement being a question… it was more to Xavier's surprise that, no, Coraline was not a human at all anymore. Her vibrant eyes didn't glow and sparkle at the sight of him. Her rosy pink lips were dark and black as if she had been tattooed with ink to say she belonged to someone else just as dark as herself. Her face was paler, of course, considering that she wouldn't go out into the sun as often. And the probable possibility of being holed up in that damned compound for longer than necessary had the effect of growing paler.

"No, love, I'm not."

"You were…" He couldn't say… he could _not_ say it still.

"I'm not dead," she muttered bleakly, softly as if everything they were speaking of the unspeakable.

"What did they do to you?"

"They turned me, can't you see?" Coraline said as if the most idiotic of humans could have seen the difference. It was most likely so that they would, but Xavier ignored that.

"You wanted to die… Why did you let them do that?"

"_You_ wouldn't do it. So they were either going to kill me, and leave you alone, or I could live and find you after they released me."

"Why did you want to be a vampire, Coral? You were so… unique, you made such a beautiful human, darling. Why?"

"I loved you enough not to leave you alone, Xavier. The minister had different plans for me anyway. Considering there were five different vampires feeding off of my blood, they wanted to have a new kind of vampire, one that would attack without hesitance. But it didn't work," she whispered quickly. Coraline did not move from where she stood, she remained motionless and emotionless. So she had been training for this moment.

"It was my love for you that kept me sane. They had been trying to get me to bite every human they captured. Your family is horrible," she muttered. "And they're not watching us. I left of my own accord." The silence was a net wrapping itself around his body, trapping him. Gauze was stuffed into his mouth. A noose had strangled him, tangling around his throat.

"Love…"

It was the only thing that was glued into his mind. Never mind her sordid explanation, he could only think about her love.

"Yes. I love you, Xavier. I did it for _you_…"

"You betrayed me. You lied. You—you," his breath came short. He didn't know what to say…

"I love you," Coraline repeated. "It didn't hurt. It never does," she added quietly.

"You betrayed me," Xavier breathed.

"No. No, Xavier, please don't do this to me." She was hoping against hell he would accept her. Those hopes were being smashed. The vampires who had taken her in, lived off of her blood for weeks, molested her even… she had gone through all of that and now… "No, Xavier, please." She was willing to beg. She didn't want to be taken back to that horrible compound. They had showed her the pictures of her staged body.

They had even left her to rot until finally feeding her their blood.

Each one of the five… ripping their wrists open in order to bring her back to the face of death…

She understood why he wouldn't take her back, but damn…

"No," she whimpered.

The small sound was cut off almost immediately.

Xavier kissed her hard, the tears slowly trickling down his cheeks. He didn't allow his eyes to burn, didn't hold the pain back. Pain was so foreign to him, he couldn't believe the pang of sorrow pounding over and over again with the exact tempo of his heart… This actually hurt—he cared for her so badly.

But Xavier didn't want this to be bad for her or himself. He hurt enough. He had _never_ wanted this for his Coral. He had never wanted his darling to be like him, to be evil, and full of bad, and all the things the world shunned. He didn't shun her, no, but he wanted her to be accepted by everyone else, for everyone else shunned him. And he now didn't accept her because she had done such a horrible thing… even _for_ him. But he didn't want that.

And for him, she had done it for _him_… And it didn't matter…

Even when he couldn't stop thinking that—his lips on hers, she tasted so sweet—she always had… and…

"I love you, too," he whispered, breaking the intensified kiss and turning away.

It was then as the darkness licked at his black body, he disappeared into the night with the last of her hopes…

And finally her heart.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	16. Cupid's Bloody Gauze

_Cupid's Bloody Gauze_

* * *

**A/N: Yes, the perfect vampyric couple, the reason of the chapter title. **

**Ahh, the sweet, metallic smell of blood… **

**This becomes a little graphic, it is why the rating is ****M **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

817. It was an old hotel, but it was the only place that was _not_ the Blood Compound. And she did _not_ want to go back there under any circumstances, even if that included _not_ being with Xavier. And this was her room, roomy 817, a penthouse to be exact.

"_You can be free_," she had been told, "_Once you get Xavier to return_."

That damned voice still was ringing in her head. "I can be free, dammit," she paused just as the minister had, "Once I get Xavier to love me."

The minister was a sinister… Cowardly old man… And only his son can… Stand him up and…

Beat his ass… you can definitely beat his fucking ass, Xavy, Coraline thought quietly, ending her little rhyme in a huff. The air outside was blood-curdling cold, her breath came in short spouts, but she lived for the cold air. She was made of cold air. Her chilled hands themselves ran along the walls as she walked through the old room one last time before settling on the blankets of her king-sized bed. She didn't know _why_ she had come back to this damned room… it belonged to the compound and was used for luring stray humans in… stray _suicidal_ humans that was, but she didn't mind. No one would be visiting tonight. She had special plans of her own.

Her feet were soft on the carpet before she had settled on the bed… it had been about five minutes ago, and her mind wouldn't stop lingering behind her body. Her hand was cold, cold and merciless against the blade that shined threateningly in the dimmed blue light of the room. She had a great plan.

The knives were usually only there when it was two vampires, blood thirsty and too lazy to drink from one another… hundreds of cuts to the legs and they were off, drinking from glasses and sucking on each others skin. Well tonight she wasn't here for any tongue-tickling, maddening games with anyone. It was just her, the empty, and the knife tonight.

She settled on the soft, rounded bed, the knife glued to her hand. She would not be treating herself to anyone else's blood.

The knife rose in the air slightly, she angled it and plunged down slowly. The knife struck the back of her hand. The pain pierced her body, but it was dulled. A normal human would be weeping already. She was weeping but not because of the pain. Xavier… his wonderful, softened smile every time she would laugh, giggle. She would smile at him, too.

She brought her hand back up, and threw it down at a different angle. It struck between one of her bones. She was certain she had pierce a vein or two, but caring… it wasn't of her nature. She would heal soon enough, she supposed. But right now… no, she did _not_ care. Everything was nothing anymore. The pain was nothing. But the sadness, of being hurt even, that was everything. It became her world.

And once the knife struck the back of her hand once again, it hit a bone. She held back her scream. She didn't care about that, but of the people in the next room, of below her. The top two floor, seven and eight, the suites and penthouses belonged completely to the compound. And vampires would be swarming to her door. No one ever screamed… if they did they were hurt and if they were hurt someone was either try to kill themselves—which was never likely for humans were brought here just for that purpose—or _they _were being killed… also another unlikely possibility.

She flattened the knife against the backs of her fingers. It was as cold as the night air just beyond the walls of the room. But maybe that was the gushing blood covering her hand and the floor that made the blade of the knife feel so cold, but right now she did _not_—_could_ not—care…

She pulled back hard and slowly, bearing the weight of her right arm against the hilt of the knife. She was going to be warm tonight, alone or otherwise. Xavier wasn't here to stop her, so why should _she_ care. He didn't love her… he does love you, she told herself. He just feels betrayed. I did betray him… I deserve this, she thought regretfully. But it was the only way… it was either death or…

Or this, she thought finally, I think I'd rather have death right now.

It was the truth and it wasn't hard to admit. The truth hurts, get over yourself, she kept thinking. Her heart pounded through every ounce of blood that dripped and oozed to the floor. Tears came quickly to her eyes; the skin was falling back like that of tender meat that had been cooked over many long hours. She would _not_, however, die on this night… she was getting Xavier back no matter what it took, even if it took the loss of all her blood to get through the night and fall asleep.

She leaned against the ebony, wood headboard. On her right, a flowing pair of curtains glimmering in the moonlight. It had been dark in London because of the streetlights. The sky was completely black, but now… moonlight was shimmering through the night sky, through the landscape, through her imagination…

"Hey…"

It was Xavier's voice.

She couldn't keep herself from thinking about that stupid night… the night she had decided to trust him with herself. He had been the first person allowed that kind of trust. It may have been that he was so kind, so understanding, so innocent and loving with her, so protective, that he earned that kind of trust, for no one had ever respected her privacy, her right to herself as a person. No, even the vampires at the compound had violated her over and over. And she didn't care because she was getting eternal death for every moment they had made her suffer through.

Her hand pounded along with her heart. She didn't feel the pain for everything had gone numb including her heart. The tears on her face burned. She couldn't believe this. She herself felt betrayed. What the hell? She wondered silently. I don't want you here Xavier… She could have whispered it but the strength drained from her body. She raised the knife from her bloody hand and ignorantly struck her throat.

The blood gushed from the vein she had struck. I'm so stupid, she thought. That's obvious. He still loves me, what am I doing? He loves you, she thought to herself again.

She would get herself out of this…

Coraline, what are you doing? What are you doing, don't hurt yourself. He's still there, he's not gone. You can try again… dammit, it wasn't working; she couldn't talk herself out of raising the knife once again. Her swings weren't hard or measured at all. But the moment the blade had grazed her neck and struck the smooth skin, she felt as if she had put every ounce of remaining strength she could possibly own into the movement. And her neck bled openly.

It wasn't horrible. Gruesome, yes. But she had been through bites as a human, and when the vampires stopped a moment to look at their mark, their work—their sudden creation—the blood welled crazily. She had suffered through the agonizing, blinding pain then. She could deal with this now. It's only a graze… it's only a graze, Coraline repeated. She stood and wobbled on the spot for a moment. Her face was smashed against the carpet, the cement underneath shattered her cheekbone with unyielding force.

The tears never fucking came.

—**lxx**—

The bathroom was ten feet away.

She only knew this as a fact because it had been in this room where she had been introduced to all of the vampires.

With each drag of her manicured nails against the diamond-specked carpet, she whispered each name repetitively in her head,

Kraemer. Kraemer. Kraemer. A chant. It got her farther. Kraemer. Kraemer. Kraemer.

A Russian man who had been bitten by his own brother—his brother turned by Xavier… Kraemer had been at the compound a little over ten years, but his young vampyric age didn't stop him from getting some fresh human blood. It was ironic, because whenever she thought of Kraemer, a white haired, stocky, square-shouldered man came to mind instead of a young, vampire… he had been a very aged human when his brother had gotten a hold of him.

Rosalina.

Rosa. She jerked at the carpet on the edge of the syllable.

Lina.

She had been the only female vampire to feed on her blood. And damn did she love necks… Coraline had noticed this herself, the very first night she was here. Her neck had been covered in blood, and the vampire had slowly dug her fangs deeper and deeper into different spots of her throat. It had been a few, long, measured days before the wounds had healed and several week before the bruises disappeared.

But on the other hand, Rosalina had long, flowing red hair, and blood-in-the-moonlight eyes… eyes as dark as the night itself. And whenever she would stand in the sun, they never glowed, never opened up to the warmth of the life she had left behind as a human. She was an Asian woman at the crisp age of twenty-two before she had been turned. Her face was angled and pallid in every single way possible, and she was a little on the reluctant side to walk up to just any human and bite them… it was just once she had started drinking blood, it was hard for her to stop. Her voice was soft and it had been at least seventy-five years ago that Xavier had found her wandering the streets as a lone prostitute when she and Rosalina had first met.

And then there had been Michelangelo.

Mikey.

Tangelo. A soft smile egged on the pain burning in the center of her palms. Pull, dammit.

He was a built muscular vampire who was the exact opposite of Kraemer. He was tanned and his strong, built arms could have crushed Coraline as a human. He was young for a vampire, for her had only been part of the compound's activities for five or six years at that time. It had been in Wales when he had been bitten, and—although it wasn't common for a body-building ocean-shore living kind of guy to be wandering is dank and busy-bustling London—he had been caught on a raining day in a bar… it was Rosalina who had invited him into an upstairs room. He had been turned that day when he refused the want of death.

Briar.

Seething, she shuddered at the next name, Briar… she pulled herself even harder and farther. Briar.

Slimy, disgusting Briar.

Briar, with his limply black hair, and curled bony hands of a skeleton and his gargoyle, narrowed face of an old, aging woman. His soft, waspish voice was still clear in her ears as he whispered the most sinister of things he could ever possibly do to her.

It was only because of Xavier that she didn't have to actually live through them…

"I could tear you apart, _rip_ through your body… claw at your very center and leave my mark upon your chest, you sickly little human." He was two hundred fifty years old and that had been the only reason he was allowed into the room when it was "feeding" time… it was because he was allowed the numerous chances to bite her and look into her past that he ever spoke to her in that way. It was because of Xavier that he only got so much as her blood during those few months at her initiation.

And Berns…

Bernie—Bernman. She gritted her teeth against the strain on her fingers.

His name was Bernie, but most vampires called him Bernman if they were older than he—a most unlikely thing. He was a few years over two hundred seventy-five; he was thirty-six when he had been turned. Bernie was quiet and humble, but he was always bloodthirsty for his age… that explained why he still held his human eye color—bright, faded-blue-jeans blue—he took every chance to bite a human as a reward, and prize, a token. He reminded Coraline most, though, of a bear. He wasn't too tall—around five-nine—but when he was angry, he was angry… his quiet voice could rise many octaves and decibels if he wanted it to, even though Coraline had heard no such thing from the soft-spoken man.

Maybe that was why he got an ass-load of respect in the vampire community. He was unpredictable…

And of course the man who had always visited her instead of taking the cheap road of parasitism, her Xavier. My darling.

—**lxxi**—

It was ten feet later and panting in the bathroom—with blood running down her short skirt and charcoal black blouse—that she was over the creamy white porcelain of the sink. Blood was patterned down her right arm, all over her hand… a trail of the sticky warmth followed her wherever she had stepped and it was when she looked up in the mirror that the five of the vampires she had just recalled, flashed lightning quick behind her… like that of a faraway nightmare you could never ward off.

She gripped the sink first with her right hand until her white nails ripped the paint from underneath the polish. The pressure she put on her hand hurt enough. Now she raised her left hand—bleeding profusely and pounding painfully—to the very edge. She gripped hard and didn't hesitate; the pain shot up her arm, shocking her thoughts until they came to a sudden stop. She fell back against the white tile wall. Her body slid down, down, down, until she struck the floor, painfully. It was her hand, hurting, pounding—it wouldn't stop—that drowned out the rest of any existing pain in her body… damn she was so stupid.

He still loves you, Coraline. Why won't you stop? She asked herself.

I don't want to stop. I want Xavier here to stop me, she thought stubbornly. A battle raged inside of her. She didn't need to stop. He hand would be fully healed by the sudden touches of twilight. It would hurt like a iron cast bitch, but she didn't care. Any pain was worth it. Anything pinprick, smashing, pounding, painful discomfort was worth her time. Her body started shaking, racked in sobs. She couldn't breath, her throat was constricted. She had lost more blood than this before, so what was wrong?

Xavier, Xavier's gone… I _know_ that… Coraline thought. Her head rested on her knees. She couldn't see through the tears they blinded her mercilessly. Why was she crying, dammit?! She didn't cry. I don't cry. Why am I crying?!

I love you, Xavier… I _love_ you. You _love _me, so why are you gone. I don't understand, darling… come back to me. Come back to me, my vampire of the night; you're the only one who can protect me—from the world and everything in it… Why have you gone _again_? Coraline asked Xavier through her thoughts. She knew he wouldn't hear her. The was no hope. She didn't share his blood, so, no. He wouldn't know of her agony. On this night, or any night after… if there was to be a night after this…

—**lxxii**—

You fucked everything up again, you _dumbass_!

He couldn't believe it…

How could you _do_ something like that?!

The house was silent around him. He wasn't sure if Tonks was in her room, or if she was out on call with the ministry, on a mission. Everything was such a hell now, he was sure she wasn't home. He couldn't smell her scent on anything so…

You are so _stupid_… If he could have hit himself in the head, he would have, but his hand was busy. He held a quill in one hand. Blood dripped from his fingers. The ink burned his hands so badly, he jerked in a breath when the thick blackness mingled with his own blackened blood. The cuts welled every time he wrote a word. He could see the small droplets of blood drip onto the paper, they dried there, smudging words and messing up the script, but he didn't care. He would not rewrite anything. The pain was enough to remind him of how stupid he was. He had sat there, hoping he would have enough blood to write it… he definitely did…

He had pricked the very ends of his fingers, drawing beads of blood. It was then he ripped into his wrist—his teeth pricking his skin, making him itch—and he pierced veins and arteries over and over. He calmly dipped the quill into the flowing blood, between the ripped flesh. He didn't grind his teeth between the agonizing burn. He brought the quill down on the paper and together, the blood and ink mixed. Coraline would be able to smell him one lat time at least, so she would know he still cared.

—**lxxiii**—

_My darling Coraline,_

_My profuse apologies shall never be enough for the damage I have caused.__  
I love you, and I shall love you, for our lives together remain eternal.__  
And although we do not share a connection I shall always love you.__Please do not disbelieve me on this.  
Your vampire of the night,_

_Xavier_

The blood meshed together with the ink. It was dark in the dimmed light. He had kept the heavy curtains open in order to let the moonlight into the room, and the wind blowing in through the open window made the open wound on his wrist burn. Xavier looked the letter over and leaned down. He didn't know what had come over him, but the vampire was suddenly biting himself over and over. Into his hand, he sucked the blood—hard and quickly—up his arm, back down into his wrist. Xavier dove at the blood, but he did not drink it. It burst everywhere—in short spouts it came, but he ignored it.

He bit down in between the bones of his lower arm, making sure to pierce the muscle—he did not scream, just made sure that where he had bitten down turned a dark purple. The bruises were already forming. Dark tendrils of bruises encircled the fangs marks, deep and penetrating. It was with one last try that he sunk his teeth into his muscled upper arm. He pulled his teeth back and ripped the muscle apart. His head fell tiredly against the letter, his hand limp against his body, and with bloodied lips, he kissed Coraline's name bloody.

The blood dripped to the floor, his breath came quick until the shock and waves of pain overpowered him and his eyes widened. With a soft voice he whispered to the room, and defeated he left his whole arm fall victim to the numbing pain. Just as he gave in, he let himself give into his feelings.

"I love you, my beautiful Coral."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	17. Knitted Wool

_Knitted__ Wool _

* * *

**A/N: And now for the introduction of our good friend Jacob. ****My teenager werewolf boy…**

**.:Hearts:.**

* * *

"Lia, Lia!" Malcolm pushed further on into the forest, following the sounds of someone far ahead of him. But just who was it? "Lia!" he called again loudly. Why was she running? Dammit, this couldn't be happening again…

"GREYBACK!" His voice grew in sound at the name and whomever he had been pursuing had stopped completely. It had to be Greyback, that bastard. He would get him tonight! He would catch up to him, hurt him grievouslymurder him if he received half the chanceand then take Lia home where they could celebrate the new chance of starting over… they would probably have to relocate to another part off England, but that was in the far future… right now, Malcolm just wanted to murder Fenrir Greyback.

He barreled through the brush and before he hit a tree-trunk head on, he spotted Jacob casting him the most puzzled look he had ever seen. The teenager held his hands on his hips right before all Malcolm could see were stars…

"FUCK!"

"Now why exactly did you have to run into a tree?" Jacob asked… "I thought you were more_experienced_ than I was…"

"Shut up, Jacob," Malcolm muttered roughly, picking himself up from the ground, brushing leaves and other debris off of himself.

"I'm not the one who ran into the tree!" Jacob laughed just as Malcolm massaged his head. He rolled his eyes while he crossed his arms and looked up at the doubled-over-in-laughter teenager. Malcolm, too—no matter how hard he tried—started to laugh as well.

"Come on…" he walked through the brushed, his boots make several damp branches snap beneath his weight. Jacob followed along behind trying his best not to starting laughing again. He turned and grabbed the boy's jacket by the shoulder and pushed him forward as he laughed along… well, he _did_ run into the tree… And that's exactly why you don't think about anything while you run, genius, Malcolm thought quietly as Jacob turned and walked backwards through the undergrowth, snow crunching under his weight as he laughed at his father for the first time in his life.

—**lxxiv**—

"Xavier!" Malcolm jogged into the house, the several feet of snow on the ground still sticking to his pants' legs. Jacob stood outside, still wrestling… "_Oomph_!" he fell forward in the path that Malcolm had made to the porch, once he picked himself up he followed his father inside.

"Xavier?!" Malcolm hurried down the hallway and didn't even consider closing the front door… the vampire hadn't answer… what happened? Adrenaline claimed his body… Xavier hadn't answer… "Shit, shit! Xavier!" He raced to Tonks bedroom door, struggled with the doorknob for a few moments before the door caved in under his weight and opened the room up to… nothing… ab-so-fucking-lutely nothing… "_Dammit_!" Malcolm roared. His voice disappeared just as he turned to the open door of the vampire's room. And Xavier laid there in the floor. Motionless, unmoving and… bleeding.

"Xavier, no, goddammit no! Jacob!" The boy rushed down the hallway, his worn sneakers thrashing against the carpet heavily. He stopped short, his hands resting on the door frame, as the sight caught him blindly. His face fell into that of silent shock, and Malcolm had to shout twice, "Go to the bathroom… Go to the bathroom! Grab a towel!" In what seemed like forever, Jacob finally returned with a towel in hand. The bite lining Xavier's right arm hadn't be sucked dry… "You left yourself to bleed, you fool?!" He wrapped the towel tightly around the vampire's arm making sure to tie it hard and uncomfortably around his upper arm. "You're so _stupid_!" he cursed as he stood and raised Xavier with him. He laid the vampire on the bed and turned to see the exact cause of Xavier's self-mutilations.

Coraline… My darling Coraline, he had wrote. She was alive… she was still alive and safe… "You _idiot_!" the werewolf shouted. Still he did not move. He lay motionless, silent and most likely… No, he's not dead. He can't die. Malcolm refused to believe the worst, but suddenly Jacob pushed past him. "What are you doing?" he demanded while Jacob moved to the left side of the bed and knelt beside Xavier.

"He's still alive, dad…" Jacob said slowly as he looked at Malcolm. His face was etched in worry, but there was a certainty sparkling in the boy's eyes that made Malcolm believe him. "He's still alive. I know it. The rest of the pack has brought back several vampires who have bitten themselves to death within the boundaries of the forest. Whenever they intrude on the boundaries, Greyback sends out other werewolves to chase them off… if they're carrying something to kill us, it's usually in their blood."

Jacob paused to look back down at Xavier thoughtfully, "By the time we bring their bodies back, they've bitten themselves and died off of the poison. If we don't clean the blood up in time—if it mixes in with the water we have spread throughout the cave to keep diseases and blood lust out—then others are infected with the poisons and they die. We've had this happen several times, and _he_ hasn't bitten himself enough to die from the blood loss. He should wake up in a few hours…"

"Thank you, Jacob," Malcolm said tiredly.

"It's no problem. I learned it from… Mom taught me. She's the healer for the camp. She's the one who's teaching me to deal with assessments of health and other things like that." Jacob smiled unsurely at Malcolm as he explained further, shrugging all the while.

"Thank you," the werewolf said again. He seated himself on the bed quietly… now the only thing he could hope for was the chance that Xavier would wake up soon.

I am _going_ to kill you this time, Xavier.

—**lxxv**—

"So why, exactly…" Malcolm wondered, "Were you scouting at the cabin anyway? The main part of the camp isn't positioned there…" He had a point and he also deserved the real answer.

"I… I, uh… Well," Jacob started, looking up at the bent over Malcolm, "It's a place… A place where I go… to be alone… basically, I don't know… I just… I like the feel of it… it's cozy and… homey almost, I guess." As the boy finished Malcolm laughed.

"You know… That's where your mother and I lived… before you were born," the older werewolf said with a smile. Jacob's eyes widened and it only made him laugh softly.

"Re—really?"

"Yeah," Malcolm laughed.

Jacob looked down before he asked quickly, "Do you think this is going to work? I mean… Greyback knows who you are… he's seen you before. I'm pretty sure he'll recognize your scent… don't you think? He smells like a human…" Jacob said uncertainly, his brow furrowing at the smirk on Malcolm's face.

"That's why you're going to do this alone. Once you take him to Lia, I'll meet you in the clearing and you can take me into the camp from there… there _has_ to be a way I can get in unnoticed. It's an oversized cavern after all…"

"Well, yeah…" Jacob muttered.

"As for you," Malcolm said, smiling, "You ought to wash that scent off!" He stood on the edge of the porch as he wrestled with the squirming, squealing, laughing Jacob. They both fell down into the snow and rolled around. Jacob cast a stern look up at the laughing man as he bent down and mussed his soaked hair. "There! All done!"

—**lxxvi**—

"WE HAVE ANOTHER!"

"SEND IT TO LEE!" Greyback called. He cackled quickly as the steps furthered deeper into the other portions of the cavern. "Looks like you won't be saving any vampire-scum's life tonight, my dear." He traced the contours of Lia's chin. "Whoever that bastard-fuck is, he doesn't deserve to live to see your face, my love… unlike… hmm-hmm me!" His laugh rose until it simmered and echoed around Lia like that of oppressing cigarette smoke. It became a giggle and escalated as Greyback leaned down and licked the dried blood that covered Lia's chest. He had ripped open her blouse disrespectfully and it was the flowing blood that covered her now in the darkness.

"You're going to the lowest existing level in hell, you rotten bastard." Lia cursed Greyback just as he leaned away from her. She was ready to spit in his face again… but he dodged her own body language. She gave up. It was hopeless. Her _only existing _hope would be if someone were to step into Greyback's—Gaybeard, dammit… he's fucking Gaybeard—cave… and that was never going to happen.

Lia turned her face away from his glinting eyes. She didn't want to look at his face ever again. She wouldn't mind _now_ if he had ripped her eyes out. You still want to see Malcolm, don't you? Your precious Mallie, your wonderful love… he would save you from this. He would kill Gaybeard, you know that… he would do anything to protect you. Don't you want to see him again?

I just want to be out of this, Lia thought quietly. She didn't care about the rest of her life now at all. It was just her, _Gaybeard_, and this hopeless, never-ending present she seemed to be trapped in.

—**lxxvii**—

"Nuhh…"

"X—Xavier…" Jacob stood over the vampire at a distance. He poked Xavier in the cheek as if he were a dead animal… The boy had been scared of vampires ever since his dad—Greyback—had spoken to him about them.

"They're vicious—more so…" he'd say through a short chuckle, "_pointless_—creatures that _feed_ off of humans. They can't just kill them and rip them open. They must bite. But while they can't rip and tear through flesh, it is because of this set back, my dear boy…" Jacob could never believe him whenever he said that, it was because of his sneering attitude… there was something about Fenrir Greyback—a false sense almost—that just made him fake, and Jacob couldn't believe anything he said because of it, but he had always remembered these words when it came to vampires, "They'll be the nastiest thing on the planet if you ever anger one."

And it was these words he went by when he had first seen Xavier. Of course, it was just his nonsensical notion that—even if the vampire was _unconscious_—he would be hurt otherwise… Even his own father, his real father—God, how he had longed to actually have a father figure in his life… Malcolm has said it was okay. He could trust his _dad_, right? Even if he had only _known_ his dad for a few hours…

"Come on, dammit, wake up!" He wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ the sleeping vampire to wake, to be honest. But it was by choice that he shook Xavier's shoulder. He would _not_ believe Greyback for _once_. Never, Jacob thought stubbornly, He raped my own _mother_, for Merlin's sake. "Wake up, Xavier." He wasn't sure, though, why he was being so cautious. He had encounter vampires before… Yeah, dead ones, he thought morbidly. I've been on a chase once…

With the rest of the pack in front of me, Jacob couldn't believe himself. He wasn't afraid of anything. And Xavier was so skinny he looked like he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. I'm smaller than he is… "Shut up!" he screamed loudly. He couldn't stand the impression Greyback had left upon him. He couldn't _believe_ the impression. I've known him all my life, his mind kept pricking at him, poking and almost making fun. What was worse is that he approve of the points it made. "It doesn't matter that I've known him all my life… Dad said it would be okay, so it _is_ okay…"

"Who are you talkin' to…?" Xavier's voice came from nowhere for his lips didn't move. His chest, however, did with each syllable of the words.

Jacob could only blink… "_What_?"

"Coraline…"

"O-kay… Yeah, well… _while_ you talk to yourself… I'm… going to go get Malcolm—I mean my dad. Bye!"

Crazy vampires…

—**lxxviii**—

"Oh shit!"

That was the _second_ time—dammit—that he had run into another fucking tree, "You mother fucking bastard, dammit, God! Dammit! Fucker, piss off!" Malcolm cursed as he continued down the path. Jacob had directed him to a path—after they had apparated to the area—and he had found it, it was just of his own accord that he had wandered _off_ of it and in the process of trying to _find_ it, he had run into another asshole of a tree.

"Son of a _bitch_!" He trampled through the forest angrily. Why did the stupid trees have to exist in the first place?! Then his clumsy ass wouldn't run into them… "Exactly!" he said aloud, throwing his arms up in the air at the sense of his logic. "Oh, great, I'm delirious. Maybe if I could _actually find the stupid trail_ and see Lia then I _wouldn't _be," he continued grumbling to the absent Jacob than the trees around him.

I was given directions, but I ran into a tree, how the _hell_ does that work out?

"Ow!" Something had just bounced off of his head… Through the dark, he couldn't see what had hit him, but he _knew_. "A pinecone? Well, at least it didn't it didn't hit my face—"_ This_ time, it struck him on the end of his nose. "Fuck! Raining pinecones!" He stumbled through the dark, through the crackling leaves that surrounded him endlessly, and suddenly he fell forward on a soft bed of…

"Grass!" Thank the Lord, he had reached the clearing…

"Are you _crazy_?"

The voice floated to him on the breeze, he looked up from where he was splayed out, idly petting the familiarity of grass… for grass meant no trees, and no trees meant no pinecones! He won! Forest: Two. Malcolm: One.

"I might be…"

"Come on… get _up_. You're as confused as Xavier is…"

"Surely not!"

"Oh yes…" He turned into the forest. "You are; you've _got_ to be." He dragged Malcolm along before his dad waved him off.

"I'm okay," he said quietly. "I just want to see Lia."

"She should have been in her room… she never leaves her cave. I don't know where she is. You'll have to help me look for her, because I'm not staying in the same room as your crazy vampire," Jacob muttered quietly.

"He surely can't be any crazier than I am," Malcolm said thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah? Do you talk in your sleep _and_ run into trees on purpose?"

"I don't talk in my seep…"

"Okay then, come on." Jacob led him to the edge of the clearing.

"But I _do_ run into trees. Can't we just take the long way around?" Malcolm paused as Jacob hurried into the brush. For some reason he had the feeling that they were going to be going past the trees, struggling through the brush, and fighting off raining pinecones either way. Jacob had taken him through the densest part of the forest—and probably on purpose. He couldn't help thinking that, but he knew it wasn't true. They had to hide their camps from wandering Aurors, who poked around all the time, so he couldn't blame anything on the boy.

"You run into trees on purpose?"

"I ran into one and dug my own grave by cussing my mouth off…" Malcolm admitted offhandedly. But however casual the werewolf was _trying_ to be, it was no use against Jacob bursting into laughter. He couldn't hold it back. It was dark. His father was a _werewolf_—he could _see_ through the dark for Merlin's helpless sake. And he had run into a tree… _again_.

"That's damn priceless!" he squealed. Malcolm fell forward as his boot was caught on an overgrown, fallen branch.

"Don't cuss, dammit, you made me trip!"

"I did _not_. That was your own fault. Unlike _some_ people, _I_ can see in the dark! Come on. And _don't_ hurt yourself." Jacob paused in front of him when they reached another clearing… a smaller clearing of course, that was blanketed in already fallen leaves. "Come on… the leaves won't hurt you."

"Shut up," Malcolm retorted uselessly.

Jacob rushed up to a small fountain and bent over the spring. His hand fell upon the cold, chilled rock. His hand slipped surreptitiously until the fountain fell back, the water stopped dripping idly into the basin of the small fountain, and the very wall itself caved in to reveal a black, dark passage that led down into the earth. Jacob hurried around the edge the basin that had sunk into the dampened ground, while he chose a stick from a pile that had been created at the very entrance of the tunnel, Malcolm took the moment to question what exactly had happened.

"Well…" Jacob rubbed his arm in thought, "It's more like that of secret passage only everyone uses it. It's just hidden. There's a stone that hides a lever in one of the crevices in the pool." He pointed to the pool that had dropped into the depression of the earth. "When you pull or press on that lever," he continued, "It activates the charm that keeps this in place and hides the entrance." The wall of rock that had slid to the right and out of the way was dark in the moonlight, but Malcolm understood. Greyback had planned ways of hiding the camp. They were obvious, but to the uncalculating eye, one could mistake this for just a peaceful forest scene. "This is filled with gasoline, when it falls down into the ground. And when it's pulled back up it fills with spring water…"

The branch that Jacob has chosen from the pile had been doused in the gasoline that filled the pool. Malcolm could only watch silently. "Everyone carries a lighter when they're out of the camp… for this—" He brought the flame of the lighter up until it licked at the stick, bringing light that enveloped both of them.

"Now come on. Mom's waiting!"

—**lxxix**—

Malcolm followed the flame silently. Jacob's body had been eerily silhouetted against it, but that was the only thing he could watch. He followed in silence for their steps echoed around and about them—making him all the more uneasy about where they were. It had been several years that he had been in a camp like this… and the last time he had been a part of one he had been young and ignorant.

It was under ten minutes when Malcolm found himself standing in a brightly lit cave, with an unconscious Xavier curled up in a corner on a bed of fur… He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know where the fur had come either. "You stay here, I'm gonna go look for mom."

"Alright. While you do that, I'll try to wake Sleeping Beauty," Malcolm said brightly. He was exhausted but he couldn't think of anything else to do, and talking to Xavier instead of himself sounded a little more inviting. He heard Jacob walk away laughing.

"Xavier… Xavier, wake up." He poked the sleeping vampire over and over. "Wake up, dammit, I'm _bored_," he continued poking Xavier.

"Wha'?"

"_Wake__up_!" He could have screamed… but he decided to be a little more polite. "Xavier," he whispered.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

"Xavier! Guess what!" he continued to whisper to the vampire, poking him over and over. "Guess what!"

"I'm tired." Xavier replied simply.

"No! Silly," Malcolm muttered, leaning against the wall, stretching his legs, "Guess."

"Malcolm, dammit," Xavier exhaled exasperatedly. "I'm _tired_."

"Well that's your own fault. I don't bite myself on purpose," he swiped the vampire on the shoulder.

"What do you do on purpose then besides _annoy__ me_?" Xavier wondered aloud.

"Well, for one thing I _don't_ run into trees."

Xavier raised his head against his own will. "You ran into a tree?"

"NO! I did _not _run into a mother fucking tree! Whoever you heard it from they were lying, dammit! Don't listen to them!" Xavier could only crack up laughing, chuckling for he couldn't quite laugh as hard as he wanted.

"Of course you didn't, Malcolm. Of course you didn't."

—**lxxx**—

"Mom? Mom!" Jacob pushed past several Death Eaters as silently as possible, trying to pass as invisible. It was only when he fell back into the crowd of raggedy clothed werewolves in thronging in the huge cavern. It was time for another feast, so where was his mother, for fuck's sake?! She should have been with the other higher-ranking werewolves. They always ate first and always, _always_ left to eat alone. Lia was one of those _always_ werewolves.

He hurried past grumpy werewolves and worried werewolves alike. Some had eyes glowing the color of the night with their darkened skin, and other's had golden yellow to show their anger and ferocity at the fact that thy had—once again—had to eat soggy left over meat. Brown to gold and black to black, he thought to himself.

Jacob himself had the dark brown eyes of his father. And ever since he had gotten the chance to see himself in an actual mirror when he was a boy that he had seen his true face, what he actually looked like—and damn he looked nothing like Greyback, as he had been told.

"_Why are my eyes brown, mommy_?" he had asked that night.

"_That's how you were born, love_," she whispered softly to him.

"_But I don't look like, daddy_…" Hesitantly he had said it. He had only been six then and had known nothing of anything beyond his world and the cave.

"_Yes, you do, love,_" she had kissed him on the forehead and he had giggled,"_more than you'll ever know_."

But he shook off the thoughts as he pushed through the crowd of complaining men and women—they were probably wondering why they were here exactly by now. He didn't care, though, for what they were thinking or what they were angry about. Someone could have just gotten their ass beaten by another werewolf and been angry about that, but right now, he didn't give a damn if they were _starving_… he _had _to find his damn mother, dammit.

He reached the other side of the huge cavern, the voices buzzing in his mind as they floated nonstop to the domed top of the cave. It seemed as if he could just stop and live off of all the pointless, nondescript noise, but he stomped through the large, roomy tunnel. This was Greyback's part of the camp. He would have to watch himself here… there were cloaked, hiding figures everywhere. The shadows themselves could be Death Eaters and _non_-friendly enemies. He would _have_ to be careful.

Jacob watched himself stepping around the corner… He hesitated the moment he saw the stale darkness open up beyond him. Greyback's cave. He swallowed hard. But he was searching for his mom—and he was _going_ to find her.

—**lxxxi**—

"Xavier…"

"What?!"

"I'm _bored_," Malcolm whined.

"I_ noticed_," Xavier growled.

"Well…"

"Shut up!" he shouted… it was more like a growl.

"I don't want to."

"Fine."

"Fine… Xavier."

"What?!" Xavier was on the verge of wringing the werewolf's neck until he choked up blood… it didn't sound too bad.

"Talk." He poked him while he said it.

"I don't want to," Xavier muttered.

Malcolm turned away from the prone vampire. "Shut up."

"No."

"Okay, so what do you want to talk about," Malcolm asked.

"You're so annoying."

"I know! You're welcome!"

"Let me _sleep_!"

"No!"

"Why not?" the vampire whined.

"Because I'm bored," he replied, whining even louder.

"I think I _noticed_ by now."

—**lxxxii**—

"Greyback!" Jacob shouted into the tunnel. This time he didn't mind staying away from the entrance… he stomped right into the cave. And once his eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness… he couldn't quite believe what they told him he saw. "MOM!"

She lay there hurt, her neck bleeding badly. "I'm gonna…" He was_ gonna_ kill the mother fucking son of a bitch murderer. But not now. Right now he had to get his mom out of there. Greyback only laughed at the boy's eye glazing panic, but he said nothing more as he stood up. His evil, maniacal laughter rang throughout the camp, and throughout the camp everyone looked up.

"I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch."

"Oh, here, here, my boy—"

"And you stay the fuck away from me!" he shouted loudly. He knew no one beyond this cave could hear their conversation, but Greyback's laughter was spine-tingling and the crazy fuck probably wanted nothing more than to scare everyone in the camp.

"My boy," he paused, "I'm pretty sure your dear mother wouldn't want to hear you speak dirty nonsense in front of her…" His smile grew wider when he extended his hand down as if to invite Lia to stand.

"Fuck you," Lia said through the blood filling her mouth. She spat at him, staining the parts of his clothes that weren't already stained, and leaving blood running down his extended hand.

"My love, you're already fucked," he said brightly. Greyback turned to Jacob while he said it, "And _you_, boy, better get out now before I kill _you_…"

"I'm not going anywhere, you bastard." Jacob readied himself for the smack in the face, the punch to the jaw, the swipe of the claws, or the choking or snapping of his own neck as Greyback held him down to the ground, but nothing came. Nothing. Greyback just stood silently there, smirking haughtily and laughing… chuckling. He was _laughing_ at him. And for whatever reason, Jacob actually found the truth to call Greyback, mad insane, a nutter, he fell under the category of each of them.

"You know," he rambled suddenly, "I took you in. You're lucky I didn't kill you when your mother first had you. But you're not my son. You never will be and I'm glad to say it. Though, I could kill you just as easily as I should have killed your damned father. Yes, I am not your father. You can change at will _because_ I am not your father and that is the only reason I have decided to keep you in the camp, to keep you well fed—because you were my weapon from the beginning—a werewolf that can change at will, that can attack in its own mind. That's you and you received it from your father. Your bastard, ungrateful whelp, of a father."

"My father will _always_ be greater than you by any stretch, you slimy, disgusting, son of a bitch, half-breed," Jacob spat. He didn't have to elongate his point. He just needed to say it, get it over with, and piss the other werewolf off. And that was all it took for Greyback lunged at him immediately. Even if it wasn't the full moon, even if Greyback wasn't a werewolf, he damn sure was strong enough to choke someone. That was the position Jacob found himself in. In the blink of his own eyes, he realized that it was Greyback's bloodied hand, covered in his mother's warm blood, slimy against his throat, pinning him against the uneven, cold, wet wall. The rocks unevenly hurt his back, but he couldn't focus on that more than the pressure on his throat.

The air… he couldn't breathe… air… no, don't kill me… no, mom… I've got to help you—I'm _going_ to help you… just give me a minute—

It was Jacob's knee against Greyback's stomach that made the bulking werewolf double over as he shouted curses at the boy. "God dammit, you'll go to hell for this. I'm going to fuck you up, boy! I'm going to kill you, rip you to shreds, you little bastard. Son of a bitch, dammit! Asshole, you fucking asshole, god dammit! Merlin's beard, son of a bitch." There were many more where that came from, but they were drowned out by Jacob's laughter.

He tore Lia from the ground, wrapped her arms around his neck and ran from the cave. Greyback would soon be after them, but he couldn't worry about that now. He was saving his mother, dammit. And that was worth his life.

—**lxxxiii**—

"Xavier! Xavier!" Malcolm had stood up and started dancing around the room like that of a delirious idiot… he certainly is being one right now, Xavier thought.

"What?!"

"It's fun to annoy you."

"I think I noticed," the vampire muttered under his breath. "Hey, Malcolm."

"Yeah?"

"I'm bored."

"I know, so am I," Malcolm said casually.

"Of course you are," Xavier said sternly, "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Yeah sure." Apparently Malcolm bugging the vampire was a whole lot more interesting to the werewolf than Xavier playing along in this little game of his, than being annoying throughout it all, "What is it?" he asked quietly, his eyes glowing in the bare light. He had his hands on his knees as if he were humoring a little kid. But Xavier could care less for his little rude-ass, childish behavior now. It wasn't going to get on his nerves… he wouldn't let him get that far.

"I WANT YOU TO SHUT UP!"

"I know!" Malcolm said vibrantly, enthusiastically, "You're welcome—"

But before Malcolm could even go on into anything—_other_ than something annoying, Jacob hurried in.

The world fell away. Malcolm couldn't believe it. The first time in sixteen years that he had seen Lia, and she was bleeding, she couldn't talk, her eyes didn't brighten when they landed on him. He wondered what she could have said if everything was different, but no, his life was always different even when it could be more. And he _hated_ it.

"Lia, Lia." Her name was the only thing in the world. Bothering Xavier didn't matter, he saw the blood on Jacob's neck, but there was more where it had come from and it was everywhere on his beautiful Lia. And he couldn't believe it. Her eyes were glazed and most likely unseeing. What, how, no, never, why? Those were the only things besides Lia he could think about and yet they revolved around_ her_. Lia, Lia. He said it over and over, gripping her hand tightly in his even when he didn't receive the reassuring grip of her own back. He didn't understand. No, no, never, never, why?

Why the hell? No, he thought firmly. _Who_?! Who the hell? That's right, his mind told him, _Who_ the hell had done this? Because once he found out _who_ the hell had done this, they wouldn't be who anymore. They'd be dead.

—**lxxxiv**—

Mallie. My wonderful Mallie, this was what she wanted. It was everything she wanted. And now she could die happily if she was going to die. Don't think like that, you have him back, it's going to be okay.

No, she couldn't let the tears of her own happiness be seen by anyone else, for they coagulated with the blood that was caked on her face. And Malcolm couldn't tell when her thoughts exploded the moment she saw him. But they did and she was crying, but not because of her wounds. Her throat… it her, she couldn't say much, but everything about her was numb. She could barely feel the squeeze of Malcolm's hand on her own, but she sure as hell smiled when she did.

She was happy he was here. That was what matter. He's here, you're safe now. No one's going to harm you. He's back. It's going to be okay. Everything's alright.

Mallie.

He was the only thing in the world that mattered.

My Mallie.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	18. Coral Hemmed Cashmere

_Coral Hemmed Cashmere_

* * *

**A/N: How I love a Russian vampire every now and then.**

**;) Enjoy!**

* * *

The shriek fell upon deaf ears this time. Someone was there, melting into the shiny white tile that covered the walls around her. She screamed again, harder louder. Why was she screaming in the first place? She didn't care if anyone would come. She had enough to deal with now.

She sobbed with her cold, grief-wrought body frigid against the tile cold on her back. It was cold, it was freezing. Why was it freezing? What had happened here? She didn't want to understand, she didn't look for an answer. Nothing mattered anymore, besides the fact that she could not get Xavier back and that was final. He would not come. And he would not care. So why was she even trying? Why was she hurting herself over this?

Xavier, Xavier, her love. She had gotten the letter… written in blood, it was written in his blood, she could smell it, so fresh. She almost had the nerve to crumple it up, but no. The blade was an old one, and she had always carried it on her person ever since Xavier left. After she had been turned, she thought it would be of no use, but as a vampire she didn't heal as immediately as she thought she would have.

It was those same demonic fucking voices ringing in her ears. They wouldn't stop.

It was that same razor blade against her wrist now. And she wasn't going to stop either.

"_What are you doing_?" Kraemer hissed to the room. He didn't stand there with her as he would have—trying to talk her through whatever pain she was going through. No he wasn't there for her this time.

"_Yes, more, more blood, more. It won't hurt; it never does_," Briar whispered in her ear. His slimy voice dripped over the porcelain and down to her, around her feet, gripping her until more tears came.

She was writhing in the bathtub, her dark hair flowing around her gently. The blood was soft as it streamed down her arm, and stained the hem of her sleeve. It was a pink or orange color—almost coral if she could call it that. Her dress was soft cashmere against her skin but the blood was ruining it.

It was black with coral lace running around her whole body. It was soft against her skin though, and that was all she wanted—the discomfort that came only with the itching of her own skin and absolutely no discomfort from some meaningless thing as clothes. She had contemplated stripping down and all out attacking herself. But her mind was doing enough already, she had just decided to rip at her arms.

And speaking of her arms, they were upturned to the ceiling. The veins were exposed to the dry air, blood covering the bottom of the bathtub as she brought her knees to her chest. It covered the front of her dress—her expensive dress that Xavier had long ago bought her.

But she didn't care. Xavier didn't care. Her mind was attacking her sense and her sanity. She didn't care. "I'll make you love the new me, Xavier. You will love the new me, darling," she whispered to the bathroom. The empty bathroom surrounding her only brought her voice back to her ears.

It only made her lonelier and thirst for a stronger smell of blood. She dragged the razor blade hard against her right wrist. She didn't care about the pain. She couldn't feel anything—just hear the blood gushing from her body and the voices that surrounding her mind and cupped her ears gently. "What are you doing, my love? Do you not understand?" Xavier asked her quietly as he bent over the edge of the tub. "I love you. I will always love you."

"Yes, Coraline, what are you doing? You have to care. Understand this, vampires never die, you will never escape your pain, so why try?"

Rosalina muttered to the mirror. She stood there silently afterwards and disappeared just as quickly. She was hallucinating dammit. She never hallucinated. "Just come back to the compound. You will not be punished. You can always try again to retrieve Xavier." Michelangelo said bluntly.

Coraline's mind is just playing tricks, that's all, Coraline, she told herself. She didn't want to hear them here. She didn't want to here anyone but her own voice stabbing and brutalizing the air.

But instead of her own voice, she got Bernie's, "What the hell are you doing?! You're smarter than this! I thought you were smarter than any other human… so why the fuck are you doing this, goddamn it?!" Coraline didn't see him as quickly as she knew she should have but she could sight of him all the same—stomping around outside of the room, pacing over and over past the door, his face a violent red to match his steaming anger.

She only blinked him away. She didn't want to hear what the elderly vampire wanted to say to her. It was more so her mind saying everything for them. They were talking to her, yeah, but she was the one putting them there in the room with her. Michelangelo just stood there in the middle of the bathroom, his muscled arms crossed in his silent fuming.

Rosalina was now again at the mirror, casting furtive glances at the crouched Coraline in the bathtub. Xavier had moved to kneel at the side of the tub, while Briar had disappeared completely out of the bathroom where he now stood waiting in the doorway watching Bernie pace while he rudely laughed. But that was alright—He needn't worry about her, Coraline would be just fine. Kraemer had seated himself on the john, his face etched in lines of fake, human age, covered in worry as he watched her with his deep, dark sapphire blue eyes.

None of them could stand her doing this to herself—each of the five that was. Briar could have cared less, but she was still sending him thoughts. Xavier couldn't hear her, and she was glad about that fact. She missed him. She wanted to talk to him. But Coraline just wanted to be completely alone.

"SHUT UP!" she shrieked loudly. "SHUT UP!"

"Leave me alone," she whimpered suddenly. Coraline couldn't decide what she wanted to say, but she didn't want to say she didn't want to say anything to anyone that wasn't herself… did that make any sense at all? She wasn't sure. She'd never be sure. She didn't understand. Dammit, why didn't she understand?!

Coraline beat herself up a little more. Her right wrist bleeding and gruesome, and now it was time for the left. With her shaking right hand, she gripped the blade, chilled, between her fingers, the blood coming again in an agonizing spurt, the veins bright green against all the red. The tendons and muscles were visible and she knew each and everyone of them. They could break within minutes… she didn't care.

Coraline brought the blade quickly along her arm, it was painful. She didn't give a damn. She didn't care. Nothing mattered. So why was she crying over it? Why was she destroying herself? Soon enough her left arm looked similar to her right, blood leaking from the open wound, the veins visible and bright, and tendons snapped, two of her fingers became useless… dammit, Coraline thought immediately, that would take an assload of time to heal.

"SON OF A BITCH!" She would have screamed it if she had been given half the chance, but she left it up to her mind to do that for her. The thought itself echoed around and about the room. The echo was tremendous—it was like that of a ghost leaving its home as it exited the tile-lined cocoon of the bathroom.

Why was she doing this? When would she see Xavier in the first place, dammit? Didn't she deserve it after all this?

It was her heartbeat on the very ends of her wrists that kept her from continuing on as fast as she would have. Slowly she pulled up her dress, her right hand casual. She wouldn't use her left… she had basically just broken two of her fingers. She grabbed the blade from her useless left hand and brought it to the top of her foot. She traced the visible veins, bearing down hard.

The blood splattered everywhere. On the wall, all over her dress… her face, she could smell it—taste it. She didn't move her feet, she had pressed into both of them with the blade. And they were both now a mess… she brought the cold metal against the inside of her leg… all the way up—over and over again—she bit into her flesh with it.

Coraline glanced once last time at her useless left hand. She could fix that herself without going to someone else, right? She brought it slowly nearer her face… tenderly. The pain was overwhelming, she hated it. But what she hated more was that Xavier would never have a clue. He was clueless and always would be. After all, what would the point be if she told him? What would he do… abandon her again? No, he wouldn't know because he had already done that… he was the sole reason she was here now, ruining every part of her body for him, every part of her that he loved.

"You'll love the new me, Xavy," she whispered lightly, a tint of laughter coloring her voice softly.

She knew he would, scary and uncontrollable were the main things that she consisted of. He liked that, right? He _loved_the old me, so why shouldn't he like the vampyric me. What is it that made him run? She wondered silently… the blade made its way over and over, again and again along her smooth right leg. She stopped at her knee and practically tore the skin off. The bone was visible for only a second, but she reveled in that one second… the new her… she wondered what things had changed. In what ways _have_ you changed, Coraline?

She couldn't keep herself from asking that question. How had she changed, and how did Xavier see how she was different if she really wasn't?

_You're not different, he just wanted something better for you_, Kraemer muttered in her head, his accent soft as the gentle waves on the shore of her thoughts, pulling away the sounds of her sobs and the stabbing discomfort of all her pain.

_He didn't think eternal life was what you deserved, being a vampire… _Rosalina told her quietly, _he__ thought being a vampire _for you_ wouldn't be the best thing in the world_.

_He thought everyone would hate you, Coral_, Michelangelo said blankly just as the bloody carnage of her wrist touched her face. The tears from her eyes that soaked her face, disappeared amongst the blood and the open, bleeding flesh of her wrist… the heartbeat was still there, but the two tendons had hidden away behind the healed, scarred flesh. She had literally carved out the remains of her wrist before healing it with her own salty tears--and, damn, did it burn like a son of a bitch.

_Dammit__, why couldn't he just explain that to me?! This hurts more than anything in the world. I hate love! I don't want this anymore! I want to die, __dammit__! Why can't I die?! _Coraline screamed at them all, throwing her thoughts this way and that.

_What the hell is this all about?! _Bernie shouted right back to her, _Coraline_the older vampire thought sternly, _You know better than to do something like this to yourself. It's senseless. Now, you may cry all you want, _Bernie breathed inside her head, _but what is the point of hurting yourself? You shall always heal, and death will never greet you. _He said it to her as if she were just a little kid and he was the father doing his dutiful job of scolding the young infant.

_Yes… what is… this all about? _Briar hissed suddenly to her. His voice echoed in and out of her thoughts, slimy and disgusting but penetrating her body all the way through. She shivered at the sound of him.

_Leave me __alone,_Coraline muttered to herself, praying that, maybe this time, yes, Briar would leave her alone.

"_Now why would I do… something stupid like that?_" he pondered aloud. He stood next to her, glancing at her dress, pulled up along her thighs. She ushered away from him and pushed herself hard against the side of the bathtub. Why was she bothering to haunt herself like this?

"No!" she shouted loudly, "Leave me alone!" Every other vampire would just be expecting that a human had become a little more thoughtful about their decision to be admitted to the Blood Compound. But she didn't bother with what they thought. She wanted to be left alone… and she wasn't a puny human either.

She wasn't weak like that. So why are you doing this to yourself, Coraline? She asked herself silently. _Yes, Coraline, _Kraemer said to her silently, _why _are_ you doing this?_

And it was his voice in the room, enveloping her softly. His mewing voice was harsh and coarse against her ears, but her hand was still working hard at her legs, tearing at the veins that popped beneath the skin of her ankles and feet, she ripped relentlessly at the muscles in her calves, and worked her way up until her knees were bleeding and pounding with her heart. Her thighs were a messy labyrinth of cuts all around, encircling her thighs, swelling at the same moment his voice swelled around her.

"Coraline, are you _crazy_?"

_I think so, why?_ she asked pointlessly.

"I would think so, too, if you ask me," Kraemer whispered to her. "Come on, let's get out of there." Coraline was still pushing her ragged body against the inside of the tub. "My dear," he whispered, his Russian accent as soothing as the cold porcelain against her shoulders just as she leaned back, "You can't just do this to yourself. There will be other chances for you to see and talk to Xavier. I could speak to him right now if you wanted me to, but if I do that for you, you've got to stop doing _this_," he emphasized the word just as he stroked her partially-mended left wrist, "for me."

Kraemer's voice was so elegant and soft against her ears.

She couldn't keep herself from giving in, "You would talk to him for me?"

"Yes, I'll tell him everything you want to tell him, okay?" She nodded—_okay, yes okay_. She wanted to trust him. After all he had only ever been there for her blood, not for her physical self—like Briar or Michelangelo. He didn't use her past against her in any way, he was just there doing his job as a vampire. "Alright," he slowly leaned away from her. Coraline took this as a sign to stand up and step out of the bathtub, but she couldn't move. She didn't want to move, in the first place, but she _couldn't_ either. "May I?" he asked politely.

"Yeah sure," she muttered shamefully. Her arms were outstretched to him, his blue cashmere shirt soft against her exposed skin. The blood soaked into it immediately once it touched the fabric, but Kraemer didn't mind for he didn't paused once her arms were wrapped all the way around his neck. Gently, he took her in his arms out of the bathroom. It was on the bed that she lied once Kraemer had seated himself alongside her.

"So what shall I tell your beloved vampire, my Coral-flower?" Honey, his voice had to be honey, for she melted at the sound of it. She would do anything he willed just as long as she didn't have to be alone.

"I—I'm not sure. I want to see him. I want to see Xavier, dammit. That's the whole reason of this. I—"

"Say no more, Coraline." His raised hand silenced her immediately. He stood and paced around the room, his thoughts pounding faster than his heart. Xavier needed to hear what he had to say, and over whatever distance, he needed to hear it immediately.

_Have you any clue_, he started his voice dark in his own head, he could hear the words echo back. Xavier wasn't conscious, or maybe he was just blocking Kraemer out on purpose. The Russian vampire didn't know, but he didn't care. _Have you any clue, Xavier, what you've done to your love? _The picture of her shuddering against the cold of the porcelain tub was vivid in his mind. It was that very picture—of her blood-drenched figure—he sent to Xavier.

_She has done things like this to herself several times. And do you know why? _Kraemer asked silently, _It's__ because of you. And if you had any honor you would come to the Satin Twilight Hotel. You know where it is. It will just be __myself__ and Coral. This isn't a trap, Xavier. She is actually hurt_. _I'll see you in a few hours._

Kraemer glanced back up at Coraline. She smiled timidly at him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here when no one else was."

"It's no problem, my dear. It's no problem at all." He sat beside her now and as gently as he could patter her hand. The tears immediately soaked his eyes. He knew what to do. But would she let him. "Are you going to heal them?" he asked just as a tear slipped down her face.

"I… I didn't plan on… I didn't want them to heal… The pain—it… it keeps me from… thinking about him—you know," Coraline could only speak in disjointed sentences and look about the room randomly, but she didn't jerk her hand away from Kraemer's non-existent grip.

"They need to heal." A tear melded into her blood. She felt the burn just as the wound closed even more. The scar was mellowing out, it was visible, bright white—it always would be—but in the least it wouldn't be raw and dry and painful for the next few days. Her upturned the inside of her wrist and wiped away the remnants of dried blood. Bright, flaring gashed opened and the blood poured out. "You gouged out the muscles? Coraline, are you insane? Do you have any clue how fragile the tendons in _your small wrist_ are?!" She glanced only once up at him, and her dark, black eyes hid suddenly behind the curtain of her hair.

"Yeah," she whimpered lightly. The tears were close—they were so close—but she would not cry for anyone else but her Xavier.

"Don't you dare do _anything_ like this again," he growled. Her sobs weren't there, but his keen ears could sense the tightness of her breathing, how fast her heart was pounding beneath her flesh, the blood pumping through the replaced skin. It was all there for him to listen to—the rhythm of her life, of her existence, he listened to it to calm him down just as he did every other human he had encountered.

"Yes, sir." She said it like that of a scared little girl.

"No. Don't submit to my being your superior. I'm here to help you as a friend, not just because I am supposed to respond to any of my own calls. You didn't call me because you needed help, you called me because you knew I would be here for you. I care for you as my friend and not just some random creation. I don't claim you to be my own," Kraemer muttered lightly. His voice was the breath of the evening against her ears. It was soothing but her heartbeat slowed to no avail. "You are my beloved friend."

She smiled at the words. Beloved. Friend. _Thank you, Kraemer, for everything you've done for me_.

"It is not a problem, ma chère."

"You speak French, too."

"Of course," he laughed. "I have been this way and that about the globe. I couldn't just leave the country without learning my favorite pet name."

"Mon cher," she repeated.

"My dear," Kraemer said, his Russian accent lavishly coated the words in a light coat of soft cashmere. If his words were anything, it would be the softness of the satin sheets against her body now, the satin lace of her dress tickling her arms, the cashmere of his shirt she fell asleep against.

She fell asleep listening to his steady heartbeat and lazy, coral hemmed words.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony7__3_


	19. Vandalized Viscose

_Vandalized Viscose_

* * *

**A/N: Italicized words, by the way, have always meant that **

**Whatever main character at the time was going through a memory…**

**May not make any sense, but enjoy!**

* * *

Coraline.

She was the only thing that mattered to him right now. He heard the thoughts the moment Malcolm had become silent. The vampire had taken the werewolf to another portion of Lia's cave, just so the shock would set in and Malcolm would stop babbling. It was when he had stopped talking to Xavier that the thoughts entered the vampire's head.

_Have you any clue_, he looked up to see that, no, Malcolm had not said anything. In fact the werewolf was asleep. He remained completely silent throughout the whole thing, almost blocking the Russian accented voice. It became distant, far enough away that it didn't hurt, and close enough to still understand. _Have you any clue, Xavier, what you've done to your love? _A sordid image appeared suddenly in his mind. He jumped up.

"Where you going?" Malcolm glanced up from where he sat—at some point, Jacob had come in and handed him a bottle of liquor. The werewolf had only taken a few sips.

"It doesn't matter," Xavier muttered. Just as he walked past, Malcolm flung his arm out and caught Xavier by his ankle. And through the small veil of tipsiness, Malcolm muttered.

"Go get her, mate."

—**lxxxvi**—

He couldn't _stand _this.

Xavier _couldn't _go see Coraline.

No.

Not after breaking her heart.

Not after _doing _that to her.

Not after letting her do that to herself.

And the whole time, Xavier thought grimly, she's probably been waiting for you to show up and save the goddamned day.

_You need to help her, Xavier_. And along came Kraemer, telling him what he _needed_ to do.

I _know_ what I'm supposed to do, old man. But the right thing isn't always the easiest. Xavier couldn't stand it.

What are you going to do, if you don't go see her? Xavier wondered to _himself_. He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.

He didn't need Kraemer butting in. He didn't need to go see Coraline. Yes, you do, his mind battled with him.

I should go see her, he admitted finally. But it was standing, pacing in the clearing, he decided that, no, he didn't _want_ to go see her.

_You just need to come to the Satin Twilight Hotel. It's not far from London. You know that. She needs you right now, Xavier. She lost her consciousness from losing so much blood. _Kraemer's voice came again into his head. The young vampire may not have been strong enough to get past the block Xavier was willing to put up to ignore him, but Xavier was just too tired to ignore him to begin with.

_I know where it is, Kraemer. _He muttered to himself sternly, sending his thoughts haphazardly at the other vampire, _She just doesn't deserve the stress of seeing me. It's my fault she did this_.

_It's your fault now? _The Russian voice stopped inside his head, the words rattled around for a few seconds until Kraemer decided to continue, _It's her fault for succumbing to doing this to herself_. _I will blame it on you if you don't come tonight. She wants to see you. _

The vampire stopped pacing. He turned to the woods. It was his blurred figure passing several trees at a time, his leaping and quickened running that took him through the woods at over fifty miles an hour. It was his quickened breathing that finally blocked out Kraemer's dripping-with-morose voice that had made him feel guilty in the first place. He disappeared into the night—heading for his love and old nightmares that had long since been thought about.

—**lxxxvii**—

817. He knew the room number. He stood in front of that navy blue door… pausing.

He couldn't believe it.

_I smell you, Xavier. Come in. It's unlocked. _

He shivered. _I can't. _He placed his hand on the door and it caved in underneath the small touch.

_Of course you can_. The Russian accent practically echoed about his head, and the room as well, for it swam in front of him. He could smell the blood from here. He knew where the bed was, he remembered every part of this room since he and Coral had stayed in the hotel for a week. He knew the smell… hell, it _still_ smelled like stale fucking popcorn. The carpet was the same navy, yellow spotted carpet, with a few stains here and there. Old blood. He knew. His nose was tingling at the enormity of the smell.

It was… It was… _Oh, fuck. What did she do?! Oh, _fuck_! Corlaine, wake up. Wake up for me, darling. My darling, fuck, what have I _done_?! I'm so stupid. _Dammit_, wake up!_ There was a trail of blood, leading from the bed and left to the bathroom… it look as if someone had dragged a body across the carpet—a bludgeoned corpse that had been bleeding for quite some time at that.

_Coraline, please_, he begged. He would plead helplessly if he had to, just as she had.

_She's been out for a while now, _Kraemer silently looked up at Xavier from where he stood in the doorway. The vampire sat perched on the bed, waiting patiently for Xavier to step up to Coraline. It was when he had walked closer, Kraemer said aloud, "I was worried she was going to pass out in the bathroom."

"The bathroom," Xavier said vacantly, he turned toward the bathroom but all he saw was the smeared blood on the side of the bathtub. Immediately he turned back to the bed. It was in front of Coraline he knelt. Kraemer moved to go into the bathroom and Xavier dismissed him as he spoke to his Coraline. "Please. Please, love, wake up. For me at least, wake up. I would have been here. I want you to see me, I want you to see that I _do _care. Please, Coral. Coraline, wake up. Dammit…" He paused, the tears were streaking his pallid face. He wasn't going to take this easily. If she didn't wake up while he _was_ here… "Coraline. _Please_," he implored. He was willing to _beg_.

"Please… I love you," he whispered.

_Look, _Kraemer thought silently. Xavier looked up in the blink of an eye. She was stirring.

_Coraline, wake up, come on. _She opened her black eyes to him. And Xavier's only got bigger. He stood and laid on the bed beside her, his hands lacing her face as he smiled crazily. He hesitated before kissing her, but she leaned slowly up… and his lips were on hers in an instant. "I love you, Coraline. I love you." She was laughing with him suddenly. Tears were in her eyes. But she wasn't smiling when he looked at her again. "What is it, love?"

"I can't believe you," she laughed softly. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Kraemer smiling at her. He could barely hear the thoughts the vampire was sending Coraline, but he didn't care to listen.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Do you understand? I never meant to betray you, love. I love you. I love you so much."

She was laughing along with him and also at how frantic he was. Coraline shook her head slowly. "You are the craziest man…"

"Dead, I know."

"Yes," she giggled.

"I know. I love you, Coraline."

Coraline smiled, the tears on his face were kissed away by her lips. And she kissed him softly as she whispered, "I love you, too, Xavier."

—**lxxxviii**—

Tonks was a clown in the circus.

And she meant it literally now. Her scarf was still trying to strangle her. She had tripped twice on the three steps that led up to the door. Her bag was a mess and she was about to drop it. One of her arms was out of her sleeve since she was grappling with her scarf, trying to yank it off… she just needed a unicycle and a few bowling pins to juggle and she'd be all set!

"Dammit!" Tonks wound up flooding in through the door, once she had yanked her keys out of her mouth. Her wand and cloak that were hidden away in her bag somehow ended up on the floor around her. She was cursing her head off like that of a drunken wizard at a _Weird_ _Sisters_ concert. Her combat boots were the reason she had tripped over the doorstep. And—to top all of her mess off—she picked up her wand only to discover that it had been _broken_.

"DAMMIT!" she shouted louder.

And no one came to help her, for Merlin's _useless_ sake!

"Malcolm! Xavier! A little _help_, please, would be _appreciated_!" But, still—through all her squalls and ranting—no one came gallivanting down the hall… no one stood up from the couch hidden just beyond the corner to stand in the hallway to laugh at her.

She was alone.

They had left.

And without _telling _her?!

"Dammit," she whispered. Swallowing back the stupid, fucking tears, the lump in her throat, and the scream that was about to be issued through the whole house, she roughly picked herself up. The robes she wore were thrown off in a huff. Her jacket was torn away from her body. The heavy winter cloak and her broken, hopeless wand were left in the floor.

Dammit… how she had loved her wand… its rough-hewn handle and uneven end was perfect for her grip. Its dark rosy-purple color was her favorite asset of it. Whenever she would shoot a spell, the tip was left a burning, bright color—each different according to the spell. Her favorite was _Reducto_. The tip was left a bright pink. It wasn't that she had had the wand for years and years on end… she had broken probably over fifty wands in her time being unusually—she hated it—clumsy. It was mostly because the wand was just as unique as she was.

She would have to get Ollivander to make a new one for her—hopefully one just as different from all the others and yet as the same as the broken one she slung to the floor. With her arms crossed, she sighed greatly. She would have to get over being clumsy, that was for sure. With one final sigh, she withdrew from thinking about her fifty-first broken wand and turned away from the door to stare down the hallway.

Someone was there.

The face was silhouetted, but she would recognize those ragged jeans anywhere, those scarred, bare feet padding upon the soft, white carpet.

Remus.

Remus. Remus. Remus. Remus… "REMUS!"

"Yes." She squealed and he chuckled softly as he said it.

She leapt forward, her combat boots dragging on the floor. She fell clumsily forward. God, she hated being so fucking clumsy. But if it landed her in Remus' arms every time she didn't mind it too much. He would always be there to catch her. She laughed as he fell on the floor… right on his ass.

"Ow," he muttered.

"Oh, Remus," she kissed him deeply, "It's okay, you caught me, so I'll make it better!" He laughed at her foolery.

"You are such a dork," he whispered to her in the quiet of the house.

"Yes, I know," she said, her voice not growing any quieter, "And you're a beast."

"I know," he looked down at the floor.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," she said, a little softer than before. "I love you, Remus."

"I know…"

Dammit, he wasn't going to give her a second chance to redeem herself?! "I know that you know. Did you know that I know?"

He laughed quietly. The house was serene around them. Snow had been falling outside for hours, the sun was setting, casting its usual haze in through the small kitchen window. The light danced upon the floor through the wind, small snowflakes doing their little jig across the linoleum tile as they cast shadows from the window. He smiled at her, his hair falling in his face. Wrinkles decorated the corners of his eyes as he began to laugh greatly.

"What?" she asked, a smile mingling with her lips.

"Nothing, it's just…"

"What?" she insisted. She looked around them… there was no point for him to be laughing. "Are you laughing at _me_?!"

"No… Nymphadora…"

"_Don't_—"

"Don't what?"

"_Call_ me that," she muttered through gritted teeth. Her hair had been purple moments before. Now it was pink. Just as pink as her face.

"I can do. Whatever. I. Please." Remus' fingers were tangling in her spiked, bright pink hair. "That's the first promise I've kept… even if I am late."

"What?" _WHY MUST HE INSIST ON BEING VAGUE_?! She would rip her hair out if it came down to it. For the last and final time, she was _tired _of everything being confusing. But Remus' fingers tickling her head were too much of a distraction. She backed off, waiting for him to explain himself… "Well—"

"I promised I'd come back to see you… Well…"

"_Well_," Tonks hinted.

"Here I am," he laughed.

Tonks could only chuckle. "Remus."

"What?"

"Be quiet," she said before she kissed him.

"I don't have to," he laughed in between their short, sweet kisses.

"Yes. You. Do." She smiled against his lips.

"No. I. Don't. Make me then." His voice was soft against her skin, against the serenity of the house.

"Fine." She kissed him harder.

He only laughed and gave in to her kissing. It was his laughing that drowned out everything around them, "Fine."

—**lxxxix**—

No laughter. Only tears. That was all he heard. That was all that existed in his world.

The blood was overflowing. Onto the blankets, on the pallid hands of the others. Someone watched from behind, he could sense it. But right now he didn't give a damn. It was just the blood he wanted. Think for a moment, he told himself. What are you about to do? _Kill_ someone else? he wondered silently.

He couldn't bear the still faces, filled with shock, gurgling their own blood as their open mouths stopped, their lips unmoving just as the air throughout their bodies. Every one of them always had glass eyes… glazed and pure… but overwhelmed with terror.

So what are you going to do about it _this_ time, huh? What do you _plan_ to do? You can't stop anyone, you're the youngest here, genius… he could have muttered under his breath, left the room and the blood to everyone else, but he needed it. This time, he really needed it.

He wouldn't have come in the first place, the scene was so disgusting. The smell of sweat and intercourse filled his nose—overtook the swelling, dampened air that filled his lungs. He couldn't take it anymore.

He vomited, standing in the bathroom, looming over the fifth toilet that week… in the fifth bedroom that he had been so very "privileged"—as the other vampires put it—to stay in. He was the youngest, got the least blood. That meant _he_ was the one who spent the most time watching their methods of torture, smelling their marks of life, listening to their sounds of ecstasy, and feeling every fiber of his body go off at the fact that, no, he could not take any more of this.

Someone—someone decked in all black—looked him over. An automatic was held in both hands of the pallid guard. It was the black-clad man that blocked his way from leaving the room. "_You signed up for this room and this week, sir. Please, turn and continue your session_."

"_Move_," he said gruffly. _Session_, they called it. As if it were a trail of a game that you played… He couldn't stop himself from thinking about it.

"_If you do not move_," the guard improvised, "_I will have to shoot you_."

"_And what good is _that_ going to do you, mate_," he muttered loudly enough for the guard's face to change a shade or two darker, "_I can't _die_. At least the shock of the bullet will make me stop thinking about how disgusting_," he looked around—at the orgy that was still continuing on the bed. The victim was in the middle of the bloody mess, moaning and whining. Whimpering, the poor thing. That was all that he could hear in the world. Their breathing, the sounds of their happiness… that was what he was. He was just as much a monster as the rest of them. He finished once he had turned back to the guard, "_It smells in here_."

"_Sir_—"

"_I'm going to ask you to move_," _he_ improvised. "_I am only returning to the compound. I've had enough of this. I shall be back tomorrow_."

The guard hesitated in moving, so he was pushed out of the way, the door was yanked off the frame—damn, he still hadn't gotten used to his own strength—and he hurried down the hall to the nearest elevator. "_Kraemer! Where are you going?_"

Someone called down the hall. It was probably just another—same as always—uncaring, unconcerned, half-naked vampire wondering why in the world their tempo had slowed when the guard had become a distraction. He looked back down the hall, at the haunted, completely black eyes of the vampire who had wandered after him. He heard the room's door slam behind the vampire just as the elevator doors had _dinged_ to a close.

He felt the pull of the elevator taking him down, down, down eight floors.

And—with blood down his front, his shoes no longer shiny… caked in only Merlin knew what fluid… and his scruffy appearance blurred to everyone else in the hotel, he moved so quickly—he walked from the elevator and across the lobby. People chatted with lowered voices, seated in vintage chairs. The domed top—with its copper-framed stained glass and intricately hung chandelier—echoed the voice back to him.

A vampyric desk-woman had called out to him. "_Are you checking out today, sir_?"

"_I'm leaving. I'll be back tomorrow_," he said under his breath.

"_Under what name will you be checking in_?" she wondered, calling to him, her face bright and pale. She grew serious, her fake smile disappeared.

With his back turned, he uttered only two letter, "_B. C_. 13."

"_Thank_ _you_!" Her polite, business-stricken voice faded to nothing just as the hotel doors closed and he apparated away from the hotel and nightmarish monsters that he knew as himself.

—**xc**—

"_Kraemer_! _My man_!"

It was back at Blood Compound 13 that Kraemer growled for the millionth time at _another _passerby leaning in the doorway.

"_Leave_ _me alone, Sarian_." He muttered under his breath for the last time, "_If I am not left alone, I'm going to strangle someone_…" His growl bounced off the cold, bare white-washed walls. It smelled like antiseptic, for whatever reason he hadn't learned yet. He hated it. It was always cold here. The bare bulb that hailed the ceiling and lit the room was dim. He already knew why. They had to live in dim light, even if the sun had no effect on them. The featureless, blurred face left—disappearing from where Sarian had stood in the door.

Altogether, Kraemer hated it here—for the last time, he disliked everything about it. He couldn't do anything about living there because he hated it… he just disliked it. It hadn't been his choice after all. His idiot brother had caught him off guard in his mansion that night in front of the fire. He heard his voice, saw the glittering fangs in the firelight. The fire beyond the figure was replaced by the monotonous buzzing of the bulb. He blinked the memory away and looked up. It was a frosted blue, cold and bare in the room. He could just stand and flick the switch to turn it to the blinding white it was meant to be when he was awake. Right now he didn't care. He didn't want to see the other three feet of room that was covered by nothing but cold tile of the floor. He had just one bed and nothing more.

Kraemer screamed loudly, suddenly. He wasn't sure why. Others that were staying the night in the long hallway of his bunker were going to hear it. They were going to come and see what the screaming was all about. Did he care? No. Not right now… not ever.

Maybe it was the fact that he _still_ didn't care when five armed and black-clad guards came to his cell that he found himself five minutes later sitting in the dark, bare room of the head-office, listening to the just-as-bare, booming voice that belonged to the minister. Minister Black! they all called him. How about, Minister _Bite_-My-Ass, Kraemer thought as he sulked.

"_Kraemer Korsakov_…_ A very famous name for a vampire, don't you think_?" The minister paced slowly around him in the darkness. Kraemer sent curses at him this way and that. He didn't care if he could hear him… didn't _care_ if he was going to do anything about it. He was vampire. He couldn't die. "_No, Kraemer, but I can torture you_…_ just like every other human you've gone through._"

Gone through,_ you say it as if a human was a product we use_… It was after this thought that he spat,"_And _that_ is supposed to scare me?_" Scared was he, no… He didn't care for being scared. What he wanted and cared for at the moment was to be free of the weight that was over him—the weight of being a vampire… it was the heaviest that he had ever carried in his life.

"_No_," the minister held the note lowly, his guttural voice echoing about the room as though it was meant to scare him… it worked… partially, "_The fact that you could die here is supposed to drive fear into your heart. But I'm sure you don't care about even _that _right now. If you don't want to be a vampire, why did you become one in the first place?_"

Kraemer inhaled and exhaled just as lowly as the minister dared speak. He didn't want to talk about his past. He hated the fact that his brother had betrayed him to _this _world. He knew the first moment that the night had seized him that he wasn't going to either one, survive, or two, fit in at all with the others… He paused and did everything he could to prevent himself from answering…

The minister had other plans to extract what he wanted to know…

_You will tell me _now_, boy_, he demanded, his voice booming loudly in Kraemer's head.

"_I'm _not_ a _boy!" Kraemer shouted.

He fell forward, out of the chair and onto the polished floor. Now that he was paying attention to his surroundings, he could see, from his prone position, that there was a light—just behind the minister's desk—above, close to the ceiling. It was a pure white.

Probably has a camera, Kraemer thought lazily. His head was bleeding… faster and faster, the headache was pounding, the bruising was forming, he couldn't think clearly, a fog was filling his mind, and even when he willed it away, it was fighting his consciousness. It was stupid, everything was stupid. He wasn't going to win.

_No, you are not going to win this, Kraemer. You _really _thought you could stand up to a vampire as strong and as aged as myself? And that portal on the wall _is indeed, the minister thought as he laughed, _a camera. Each and every move you make here in this office, it records, and it will evaluate how strong you are and how strong you will become with my training. The fog that I am filling your head with right now is going to knock you out. Once you lose your consciousness, I will have access to every one of your thoughts _without _biting you_.

The minister's evil laugh was the only thing that existed in the world after that. He became dizzy. Kraemer couldn't believe this. What brought him to deserve this? His head was pounding… he could feel the minister inside his head, probing his brain and his very being for answers and questions to answer.

_That's right, Kraemer, give into it. Deep inside yourself, you know, that somehow you deserve this, and_…he paused, this!

The sharp pain in his side was the minister's shined shoes glimmering in the light against Kraemer's side. The ribs were cracking inside his head… he was screaming in pain somewhere far off and far away from the very room he was in.

_I never asked for this. I never _asked _to be a vampire, _Kraemer thought involuntarily, answering the minister's question finally. The minister was pulling his very thoughts from him—he was making him relive his past.

_No, don't do this_…_ no,_ he tried fighting back, but that was the last thought he was granted before the minister looked deeper into his past. He writhed on the floor, trying to fight. He couldn't think at all. He couldn't say anything—couldn't even scream at the pain. It was nothing like being bitten by a vampire. No, that was painless, exhilarating to go through almost. This was sending electrified currents troughout his whole body. And it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Kraemer tried to dig his nails into the grout of the tile cold against his face. The minister held his hand up in the air and Kraemer did so as well. The stinging of his face left him to realize that the minister had just made him slap himself. He was a fucking puppet!

_Go. Back. To. Fucking. Hell. Where. You. Came. From!_ Kraemer spat silently.

"_I'll do much more than just that_," the minister's voice was loud and far above him. So where was he again?

Kraemer moaned deeply. The pain was agonizing, but he didn't care. Still _don't care_,_ then? _the minister asked inside his head, his loud voice echoing in and out of understanding. But maybe it wasn't his voice… maybe Kraemer just couldn't concentrate…

_Go fuck yourself, you big Black _monsterKraemer thought, his mind suddenly strong. Something was distracting the minister… but what?

A little girl was laughing. There were kids playing there in the room, he could see them. They were giggling, running around in circles on the soft grass of a playground in the rain. They threw their hands up. A little boy was chasing a girl, around the swings, beneath the slide. A few were laughing along, swinging in the rain and the soft breeze that floated suddenly through the room against Kraemer's face.

_What is this? _the minister wondered.

_I don't know, _Kraemer thought as the minister allowed him to answer, _I don't remember this. _

Kraemer focused on the boy, who chased the girl for some reason. They stopped in the center of the playground. The kids running in circles hesitated for a moment to look at what was going on. The swings had stopped squeaking in the wind. The rain was the only sound. The boy stood there, silently, looking at the ground and then back up to the girl. He laughed and smiled at her for a moment.

The girl wadded her hands on the hem of her knee-high dress as she leaned forward and giggled. Her dark, curled hair was soaked in the rain, but Kraemer wasn't sure how he cared to notice. In his own realization, he laughed—it was broken for the minister stared coldly down at him… soon a sob was intertwined with the helpless noise.

The boy giggled once more. A rose was in his hand as he held it out. She blushed, the girl blushed and Kraemer only smiled. The boy leaned hesitantly forward, mimicking the girl's slow actions. A chaste kiss and a few moments later and the rose had been passed from one to the other. But pain contorted the glint in the girl's eyes suddenly. A thorn had pricked her hand. Blood dripped down her arm, but she happily ignored it—dementedly ignored it is more like it, Kraemer thought.

So the minister had finally relinquished control over his head?

_What is this? What's going on? _The minster's voice was getting farther and farther away. Why, Kraemer wasn't sure. It just was. Right now, he didn't mind in the least. His train of thought was coming back, but someone was screaming… They were in agony. There was blood everywhere. He felt himself gag at the stench. Something was burning.

The sky was on fire. The boy was on the ground crying loudly, his squealing surmounting with the thunder that had suddenly filled Kraemer's ears. The girl was whispering words to herself, words the vampire couldn't quite make sense of. She was crying, but he couldn't tell. The rain washed her tears away. The kids that had been playing—running in circles—were screaming, their mouths hanging open. The sky was on fire. The sun was ripping through the clouds.

_Looks like I'm stronger than you'll ever be, minister_, Kraemer thought, shoving the thought into the room. He didn't care if the minister could hear his thoughts. Right now, he _still _didn't care. The scene was suddenly sucked out of the room. The girl was still screaming in his head, echoing throughout the room, her screams… they were painful. His head was going to explode.

The vampire picked himself up off of the floor. Light flooded into the room. The minister stood, silent, leaning against his polished, mahogany desk… just _inviting_ Kraemer to say something aloud. _You know you want to prove me wrong, _the minister hinted. A smile filled his face. His pointed teeth, dead-panned, glazed white eyes burned into Kraemer, who said nothing at all.

Finally, he inhaled, "_Am I dismissed?_"

"_Excuse_ _me_," the minister said smoothly.

"_If you'll excuse _me," Kraemer turned from the other vampire but froze in the middle of his movement.

_Don't turn your back to me,_ the thought thickened the air around them as the minister stood in front of the door, now laughing at Kraemer's silently surprised expression.

_I only want to _leave_, minister, _Kraemer shoved the thought toward him, but the block he felt between the both of them only made him swallow his thoughts completely until the room was made of nothing but silence.

The minister smiled meekly, _And leave you shall_. Kraemer found himself pushed against the desk. He had screamed the moment the crack filled the air. He thought maybe the damned wood wouldn't be hard to break at all. On the contrary, he found that his legs were a little less sturdy.

The bone peeked out from the black slacks he wore. His right femur was beyond repair. Something pressed him up against the damned desk, but his vision had grown too dark for him to tell. That'll be a bruise in the morning, Kraemer thought sarcastically. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

"_So you still have a sense of humor,_" the minister said aloud. "_Well, so do I._" His rough, left hand held Kraemer in place while he moved whatever held him in place against the desk. It was a rock… a big fat stupid statue that had pinned him against the wood.

_Fucker,_ he cursed the statue and the minister both.

The minister's right hand jerked the Kraemer's leg and his left gave up on supporting the vampire. He yelped and fell to the floor as the grip on his blood-soaked slacks lessened. Blood poured from the wound. His leg was lying at an odd angle, he was sure. His breathing quickened until only the shock kept him trying to stay conscious. His vision was still dark, but above him, the minister cackled at his broken form as if it was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.

"_I will have order within my _own _organization. My son shall bring in these hopeless maggots called humans. They fuel this whole plan. But, like so many before you, I will not have useless vampires lying about, whining for death when they've already been granted it in the first place. You are _my _slave. You shall do _my _bidding. That is how it goes._"The minister's laugh controlled his thoughts. He kept silent for once. "_Now—unless_," he hissed the word, held out the 'S' as if it could possibly become the scariest thing in the world, "_You wouldn't mind me breaking the other_…_ you will go back to your cell._"

"_And just how the _fuck_—_" His anger was cut off. A guard—the same guard that had led the parade to the office—yanked him from the floor. The minister shoved a black cane into his hand just as he was hauled up. Grooves were cut into the piece of wood, Kraemer noticed as he inspected it lazily, and they were filled with silver. At the very top, in Latin, were the scrawled words:

_Vampyre – Tu existo solus semper_

Just as Kraemer read them, the minister couldn't contain himself enough _not_ to say what they meant… "Vampire, you are always alone."

"_So I'm guessing this cane was made specifically for me, then, eh?_" Kraemer stared at the burning white of the minister's eyes. The only black in them were the pupils and they were small… almost nonexistent. He was just a void of white with nothing but blood to satisfy his meaningless existence as a parasitic monster.

"_Yes, my boy_." The minister waited for Kraemer to clench his teeth tightly before he continued, "_This entire conversation and meeting alike has been recorded through _your _eyes. I only wished to extract information from you and _then_ break your worthless leg so you would understand that _I, _and I _alone_, am running this and that, no, you will _not_ be escaping my plan anytime soon._" Kraemer just spit in his face. That was his only answer… it was legitimate enough. It also earned him the direct right to be rammed against the wall by his shoulders. With a bright _clang_ the cane fell to the floor at his feet. The minister just smiled and wiped the phlegm off his face.

He dismissed the guard pinning Kraemer to the wall. The strong hands that held him let go, and he fell to the floor _again_. He screamed in agony. The pounding in his head _had_ to stop… at some point it would or he would end up saying screw staying awake. The blood kept pouring, he didn't know if he was going to live through all the loss. Maybe this time he actually held the hint that he cared. "_I will get it through to you_._ One way or another_._ You will understand that there is nothing you can do for yourself_._ You _belong _to me_."

Kraemer struggled to sit up straight and erect… that was a lost cause. His struggling only received a small chuckle from the minister, who eventually—after all of Kraemer's struggling—signaled for the guard to roughly jerk him up from the floor. Once he stood straight, he gingerly held all his weight on his left leg. The cane held him in place as the minister spoke. Kraemer neither blinked nor showed weakness for he was hardly listening in the first place—the pain in his leg saw to that, "_You are a insect in my sight_…_ take him away,_" he said casually. _Finally_!

It was in the hallway, the guard was pushing him along. Ten minutes later—twice the amount of time it took to walk to his prison-cell of a room—he was lying in bed, screaming and writhing once the guard left, jerking at the sheets and ranting at everything he had done and everything he didn't want to be. The minister's rag doll of a puppet, a parasite and monster, immortal…

The room had been sound-proofed while he had been gone. A reinforced, metallic eight-inch-thick, door was dead-bolted into place from the outside. He would no longer be able to leave of his own accord. Out of all the vampires that lived in the compound, only a select few enjoy the luxury of an outcast profile. He had become one of those few. Everyone would avoid him. They'd probably keep him locked up all the damn time, away from blood and the sanity of monstrosity that had become himself, that he had become accustomed.

It had begun to drive him crazy anyway, he thought uselessly. It's time for a change. Those were his defeated thoughts as he gave into the true fact that, yes… he was finally a prisoner.

"_Vampire_," he spat the minister's words back at himself. He was far away from the minister now… he simply saw it as the time to torture himself only a little bit more for all of his unneeded idiocy…

To himself aloud he said it, gripping the cane until his knuckles turned painfully bright white.

"You are always alone."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	20. Busted Up—Beaten Over Baize

_Busted Up_—_Beaten Over Baize_

* * *

**A/N: Goodnight, goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow—That I must say goodnight 'til it be tomorrow **

**For those who adore Romeo and Juliet **

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Malcolm laughed.

The alcohol was in his system.

So what was stopping him?

He'd march straight to Greyback and kick his ass. But right now that only thing that kept him from doing just that was Jacob. He stood in the way at the entrance of the cave, refusing to move. "Jacob, please," he begged gruffly. It hadn't really come down to begging. He just wanted to punch someone right now. And that perfect someone seemed to come down to be Greyback—after all, he was the reason Lia had almost bled to death.

"I'm not moving, dad…" Jacob paused to think of a better excuse. He could smell the alcohol on his dad's breath. It wasn't a lot, but just enough for him to argue a little harder. "Greyback almost killed _me_."

"Also another damn good reason to kick his ass to hell and back." Malcolm stood back and looked his son over, one, two, three times before he began to laugh.

"What? What?!" Jacob insisted.

"You are exactly like your mother," Malcolm murmured thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, she's the only person I have," Jacob whispered, his face down-turned toward the ground, his hair hiding his dark eyes, "I'm glad I've had her with me all my life, I would have never met you if it wasn't for her." He smiled and glanced up at Malcolm, but just as Malcolm smile became genuine, he turned and hurried out of the cave suddenly, "I have scouting to do! Take care of her for me! Thanks, dad!"

The werewolf just chuckled quietly while he turned to Lia, lying on a pile of Merlin-only-knew-what-animals' skins. Her wounds had been healed by Xavier, a sort of _Thank You _to Lia and Jacob both for sheltering him in the cavern and risking their lives for a measly vampire. Malcolm had rolled his eyes as Xavier had explained what vampyric tears did to wounds, but he knew Xavier meant it. The vampire hardly ever uttered the words under his breath in the first place, let alone let several people around him hear it.

Malcolm smiled gratefully at Lia. She was still awake but only barely. "Hey," he whispered quietly as he sat cross-legged in front of her. He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed each of her fingertips. "You still play piano, love?"

Her smile was almost invisible, but her words were there, solid and opaque in the air around him, "I can play for _you_."

Malcolm's laugh sounded helpless, even to himself—and tears burned his eyes. He didn't, however, hold them back. Lia let him lower her hand into his lap, and only when he was completely still did she firm her grip on his hand. Malcolm's palm was warm and soft, as it had always been; and rough fingers slowly stroked the back of her hand. His eyes studied her carefully—gauging almost—to see if she would be okay… "I _am_ okay, you know. I have to keep my promise."

"And what promise would that be?" Malcolm was surprised at the defiance in her voice. She had always been strong, yeah, but she had just been raped… Raped, dammit, he was going to kill Greyback, his mind interjected.

"I promised I'd never leave—I will always love you. You can't possibly think I _wouldn't_ keep that promise, Mallie." Her breath was fast, but her words were still whole.

His laugh was warm, "Mallie," he let the nickname float on his tongue for a moment as if it were sweet candy. "I haven't been called that for a long time."

"I know, love. It's been…" Lia's face was downcast with shadows. The gas lamps that were mounted about the room on old rusty nails were dim, but the spidery light that Malcolm's eyes lashes drew across his face made her smile. "It's been a long time since we sat in front of a fire together." Her voice was smothered in reminiscence.

"A crackling one, that is!" Malcolm said brightly, laughing—trying his best to let his laughter echo about the room. Lia joined in some moments after, and his hand gripped hers a little tighter. "I love you, Lia."

"I love you, too, Mallie. You'll never know how much!" she exclaimed. She fell forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Oh, Malcolm, if only you could have seen Jacob grow up. He's so much like you, love." Her voice was soft against his neck. He leaned into the tickling of her breath and chuckled softly.

"I've missed you so much." He smiled at her familiar grey eyes, her hair was cut and dark brown around her face, dyed some time ago, but she was still Lia. She was still his beautiful flower.

The tears that stung her eyes soaked through his shirt. He let his hand float along her back. "Sixteen years," he said slowly.

"Yes," the small cackle filled the room, "A definite sixteen years of a living hell for the both of you."

—**xcii**—

"Have you seen Xavier?"

"No, I haven't, love, why?" Tonks leaned away from the comfort of the couch and Remus' shoulder.

"I was just wondering. What made you come back?" she asked offhandedly. He smirked, her voice wasn't enough to confuse him.

"I already told you," he said simply. _Once again, vague!_ Tonks thought, smiling. "I already told you, I wanted to keep my promise." His smile was soft; he knew she hated it when he wasn't to the point.

"So just because of that promise…?" Tonks asked steadily. Her eyes were dark, lavender, imperial purple dark, she was thinking of Xavier at the same time.

"I love you, Nymphadora." His voice tickled her neck and her insides… her stomach exploded, the tempo of her heart was loud, crashing, screaming, her breath was fast against his lips, and all of a sudden, the sweet taste of his own lips were on hers. His hands were against her hips, but his fingers were somehow tickling her, making electricity shock her all the way up her spine until her eyes widened.

"Remus," she laughed. It had been such a long time since she had kissed him like this. Maybe she hadn't ever had a kiss like this, but damn, it was amazing. The sitting room shrank to nothing around them, the leather of the sofa grew softer. All of a sudden, Tonks was straddling Remus. His eyes were sparkling—_maybe even mischievously_, Tonks couldn't help but think it so mischievously herself as she giggled softly. She had giggled for Merlin's sake!

She shook her head, "Don't call me Nymphadora." Her voice was soft, but her hair only grew a brighter pink as she said it. Only Remus could make the name sound so sweet—let it roll on his tongue like a piece of chocolate that he so much adored. Her lips were fervent against his. Her hands were crawling slowly beneath his shirt. She was laughing somewhere in the midst of it and Remus shivered.

"What? You don't love me?" he asked, the spark in his eyes dulled slightly. "I missed you," he added suddenly.

"Yes, of course! I love you, yes, I love you…"

Remus paused before she could dive in for another kiss. "Is something wrong?" The pure curiosity that burned like lighter fluid in his voice made Tonks blink bluntly.

"No, nothing at all. Why?"

"Tonks, I know you're lying," Remus made to lean up slowly. Tonks held his shoulders lightly, her grip on his brown jumper tightening when he tried to fight her.

"I'm not lying, cross my heart."

"Tonks," Remus muttered, defeated. Her eyes were pleading almost, wishing that he would stop poking around.

"I'm not lying, Remus, when have you know me to lie to you?" Remus looked down and then at how close she was to him. The couch was beginning to hurt his back. Tonks was starting to sound like she was lying to him about _something_. He just wasn't sure if that something was bad or not. Most of the time—he had learned—if something forced you down to the point of lying about it, it wasn't very good…

"Right now, I want to know what you're _hiding_, then." Tonks only rolled her eyes, cast him the stern look from where she looked up at him and leaned in, kissed him on his cheek… He needed to shave, but she would solve that later. Tonks blinked once, Remus had turned his face before she could gently kiss his lips. His cheekbone was prominent against her lips.

"Why would I hide something from _you_?" she asked, poking him squarely in the chest as she did so, a smile perched on her lips. Her eyes were giving off that bright glint that, yes, she _was_ hiding something.

Remus smiled but it only lasted for a few moments… then it disappeared, "Because I know you'd do something like that."

"Okay, _what_ exactly would I hide from you?"

"You have octopus arms? You're a block of wood transfigured into a human?! A dinosaur in disguise! You secretly want to kill us all and blow up everything! Are you gay?! I know! You're pregnant!"

Remus was virtually laughing his head off.

Tonks eyes widened at the last statement.

"What?" he asked, trying his best not to laugh, tears formed in his eyes. "That's exactly what Sirius said when I tried to tell everyone what I was hiding!"

"Remus, you are such a dork…" Her expression probably couldn't get any more stern.

"Sirius said it, not me!" he paused and all the laughter in the room ceased, everything grew quiet, "You _are_ hiding something."

"No! I didn't say that! Okay _fine,_" she muttered, _finally _giving in. _Dammit, what do I tell him… _"I think… I think things are going…"

"_Yes_," Remus pushed quietly. He could deal with too fast… too slow… maybe.

"I…" Tonks quietly tried to decide how exactly to put it in words… "How… exactly do you—" The idea suddenly came to mind instead of the _other_ idea… "How can you stop being someone else's if they're a werewolf and you're not?" Tonks smiled lightly at the explanation.

"What?" Remus was slightly shocked. He sat up and Tonks fell to the floor, rubbing at her head.

"Xavier was telling me about it. And I was wondering how I was yours in the first place, and—"

"You're _mine_ because I've claimed you. You want out of that? You have to end a relationship with someone and cut all ties with them, so their scent will leave you and no other werewolf can associate you with that werewolf." Remus' voice was on edge, and tinge of anger was hidden there, too, Tonks noticed.

"I was just wonder—"

"Why would you want to know in the first place?!" Remus wondered loudly. His voice filled the house, filled her ears, it filled her heart and the burning acid that made up the noise burned a whole into her heart. Nothing would fill that gap, she knew, he was angry now. "Eh?! Why would you want to know that? Have you never thought of asking someone else? Oh, I don't know, like Malcolm, per chance?"

"Remus, I would never want to leave you! I was just _wondering_!" Tonks said angrily. The acid from his put-off voice filled her throat. The tears were stinging. She couldn't believe this, and under the circumstances… Dammit, she did not _need _to be stressed out again. She stood up quickly—and without thinking—drew him into her arms, and grasped his collar. His lips were against her, but he didn't respond, he didn't kiss her back. "Come on, dammit. I was just _wondering_."

"Just wondering," he said doubtfully against her lips. "Don't wonder things like that… it makes me think—"

"I'm in love with someone else," Tonks added suddenly.

"Yeah," Remus finished.

"I'm in love with someone else…"

—**xciii**—

There were definite unneeded tears stinging his eyes.

It was with sure prejudice that he screamed loudly at the top of his lungs… for no reason really.

His anger couldn't amount to anything in the world at the moment. He couldn't believe this. After actually willing himself to open up to her… let her in. Dammit! Motherfucker, he couldn't stop his mind from screaming it. Every time he would try something like this—as a kid, of course—he always wound up hurt and betrayed. No girl dared give him a reason as to why they hurt him either. It was how it was. But he never expected Tonks to end up like everyone else before her. He loved her. He loved her, dammit, and she betrayed him.

—**xciv**—

Never meant to be so stupid. He must have done something wrong, for the memory to come back at him like that. Elaine, I love you, so much. Why did you have to listen to me that night?

Kraemer looked up from the sink. Xavier was just lying there silently. It had been a few minutes before, he knew, that Coraline had fallen victim once again to sub-consciousness. Xavier leaned over to her, kissed her forehead, and looked up at the stocky vampire. Kraemer made to smile at him, but it was useless. The memory was haunting him now. He wasn't going to let it go.

Elaine was gone… that had been over half a century ago. He was completely over it. That year was gone, long gone, he had lived through it blindly. The children had been his own. He had been so sad that year. But the advantage of being a vampire had grown on him. Sure, he had said long ago, fuck the orgies—Coraline had been an exception—but Elaine had haunted him the whole time.

"Your father's on the move again. He sent her to retrieve you, to bring you back to the compound—" Kraemer walked forward quickly.

"He doesn't need me, so what's the point?"

"The point is," Kraemer paused as he leaned forward, his dark, sapphire eyes studying his imperial, purple-eyed counterpart, "He will kill you if you come, and he will hunt you down and torture you if you don't. Eventually, he will win one way or another, Xavier." Xavier just glared down at Coraline's still face. Her lips were smoothed to an intricately curved smile. It had been a long time since Kraemer had seen her smile like that. At some point or other, he felt his own lips stretch into that rusty mold of a smile.

It looked more like he had smelled something rotten, so he gave in to the frown that had cursed him for the past half century. "Because I want to keep her safe. Don't you?" Kraemer wondered aloud after Xavier didn't make the move to answer.

"What do you mean?" It was then that Xavier looked up, curiosity etched into the features of his angular face.

"That is why I still don't have Elaine…" he muttered vaguely.

"What are you talking about? You said Elaine left and—" The curiosity that claimed his face was slowly washed away by Kraemer's soft words.

"No, Xavier," he paused, the strength had left him, the catch in his throat surprised even him, "Your father…" he tried his best not to falter, "Your father sentenced them to death in the compound. He sent a band of renegade vampires to take them… they were turned. My daughter…" the tears were coming now, he looked up until the light from the lamps beyond the building lit them, falling down his face.

"My daughter was locked in a cell with another vampire, she was raped… My son was slaughtered. Your father saw to that. He said that no one like me deserved to have a son, or a family even. My wife was turned, and the locked her away in a cell chamber… they made sure that the sunlight would kill her, made sure that it would burn her until she was nothing but ashes in the soft breeze from the heavens."

"Wh—What?"

"Your father did everything in his power to ruin what I had had as a human, to get me to realize that being a vampire was better. But I can't go a single day in this immortal life without thinking upon them. My own _brother_ was a part of that bastard's plan. My own _brother_ worked against me. The only _good _that came of _any _of my time as a vampire is the sure fact that he received what he deserved. I don't want the same for Coraline… or you, Xavier. I have been loyal to him all this time, but I'm _not_ going to stand by to watch him kill his own son. Or murder Coraline. I will _not_." Kraemer stood, shaking—his hands were trembling and hidden in the pockets of his pinstriped slacks, but he did nothing to hide his emotion.

Xavier had been lost for words. What would _he _do if his own father killed Coraline?

"We have to get out of here. Come on, I know a safe place."

—**xcv**—

Tonks looked up at the sky. The sun was rising… nighttime had broken through at some point. She wasn't sure exactly when. It had been in anger that she had left the house. Not because she _had _to leave… she wasn't quite sure yet. Maybe it was Remus' overreacting. She didn't know.

_You would think, after all this time that I've spent chasing him, he would think that I _actually do _love him, and wouldn't be literal when asking a lycanthropic-related question_…Her thoughts were her only friends now. She hated it, too. Being close to people had never been hard for her, and now when she wanted to be close to _one_ person, only one, she couldn't stand to be shoved out of the way.

_Men_, she thought silently. The night's breath was soft on her face, the bare light from the moon was escaping in the mighty appearance of the sun. It was hanging lowly, pasted against the night sky. The sun hadn't even reached over the tops of the trees, only its light shone in multicolored hues against the canvas of the sky. _Why do I gotta be so poetic? I need to focus on this_…_ Focus_. She tried to tell herself… over and over, but when a problem arose, she would just poke at it some more until she got what she wanted… all the time. So what was the problem now?

_Why do _I _have to fix it? If he loves me, like he said, then he will figure out what I meant, right_…

She wasn't so sure. She had hurt him from be the vague one this time… she didn't think so. "How would I react if he told me that he was in love with someone else, while kissing me and leaning in close so my heartbeat would just race? I didn't even mean anything I—" She paused in the snow. It crunched beneath her boots, but not even that had gotten in the way of her thinking. At that, she was amazed.

She thought of Malcolm, and turned into herself silently. Through the pop in the air, a pinecone was left in her place. The squirrels chattered mercilessly in their pines and the night air was crisp about the snow that fluttered where Tonks had disapparated.

In her spot appeared a huddled over Kraemer, clutching to Xavier's side who was murmuring into the slight breeze upon the air. Blood dripped softly into the snow, coagulating with the crunching beneath their feet. Soon a trail of it followed them until they closed in upon the house. Coraline… she had cut some part of herself that she didn't show Kraemer. "I think it… I think she cut her legs… she didn't show you?" Xavier whispered lightly in the air. Kraemer looked up quietly, his scarred, lacerated face looked up, pale in the surrounding darkness.

The sun was rising, dammit they had to hurry. Xavier would definitely like to avoid the sun right about now. Kraemer, he knew would be fine, even Coraline… but his father's fucked up genetics… even his mother. Xavier wouldn't be the luckiest, dead man alive to be caught in the sun.

"Come on, Xavier… we must hurry," Kraemer muttered quietly. He could sense his worry through Coraline, even she shivered with anxiety. Xavier tried suppressing his thoughts. Kraemer would hear them anyway, but he didn't much mind for it. He just didn't want to think right now. Coraline was bleeding, he could smell it so fresh and black, sharply contrasting against the white of his hands and the snow, soft and just as cold as his flesh.

Xavier collapsed against the door, the frosted glass whimpering underneath his weight, fogging in the warmth of his breath. "Come on, Tonks, hurry. Open up. Come on." His whisperings didn't reach past the door, Kraemer had to reach out and slam his fist on the dark, red wood.

A few moments later Remus appeared, his face tight and thoughtless as he appeared, lips a smothered thin line in the cold. He was in his pajamas, worn and threadbare so he ushered them both in, making sure to utter an invite so as they could each pass over the threshold.

"Stupid curse," Xavier said carelessly, "I hate the damned thing. I hate my father as well. Where's Tonks, Remus?" he wondered aloud, leaning into Kraemer until the other vampire took Coraline in his arms. He spoke as Kraemer moved about to the end of the hall. "On your right!" he called. He watched quietly as his bedroom door was opened and Kraemer as he disappeared in the fading light.

"Tonks," Remus added through the quiet.

"Yeah, where is she, mate?" Xavier looked about, letting his hands stretch before him, waiting for Remus to answer but… nothing came from the silent werewolf.

"She…" he faltered. "She left, in a hurry. I think it was some Ministry mission or something for the Order, but… I don't know. She didn't really mention—"

Xavier quietly nodded, looking up when Kraemer's soft footsteps arose on the carpet. His sapphire eyes gleaming in the light from the kitchen, Xavier smiled in thanks for thanks for the other vampire's presence. "Can we keep her here?" Kraemer asked suddenly through the silence.

"Don't read my mind," Xavier muttered, turning toward the kitchen, glancing here and there out the dark window. He grasped a coffee cup in his hand. It wasn't until he reached the coffeemaker for some coffee that he paused. He listened in the silence, he could hear Remus' heart beat. "Is everything all right?" The silence sped up in surprise.

"Yeah—Yes, everything's fine. Why?" Remus glanced around almost nervously, as if he thought the vampire could read his thoughts… He moved to sit down on the couch, his footsteps a slow tempo in the quiet. Kramer studied his eyes with a blank face. Something was wrong, he knew Xavier could sense it, the man's heartbeat was crashing out of his ribcage.

Xavier poured the coffee into the cup. It was his turn in the game, he just had to move the right piece, say the right words… "What happened with you and Tonks this evening? You sound a little bit torn up about it?" It definitely had struck some nerve for Remus tried not to show his emotion—tried not to let it spark in his eyes wildly. His heart beat quickened and slowed immensely. Don't get angry on me, Remus, Xavier thought quietly as he let the heat of the cup settle on his lips. He silently turned away from the counter. Remus was seated on the sofa, trying his very best not to look up. "Was it bad? Did something happen at the Ministry?"

"No," he muttered. He stared adamantly at the carpet, the green sea floated in front of his eyes. He looked up, teary-eyed and quiet. His lips were drawn into that tight line again. His face was blank, only his eyes showed anything to the two vampires.

That was when Kraemer decided to pipe up, in that smooth Russian accent, "You can talk when you want, Remus." His voice was softened light in the shadow of Remus' face. He looked up at Xavier… almost pleadingly.

"I won't bite you to find out, Remus. You're—"

It was snubbed that Remus muttered thoughtfully, "No different from Malcolm."

"I'm not biting you," Xavier repeated. Kraemer had fallen to the outlines of the silence, watching this battle go on. He also paid attention to what Xavier was thinking. Carefully wondering just what had gone wrong in the other vampire's brain. He was muttering to himself that, no, he couldn't, would _not_ take up the offer of biting somebody else. Apparently his father had instilled just as much fear in Xavier as he had in Kraemer himself.

"Xavier, you won't get in any trouble. He is a werewolf, after all, not a human that your father can track down—" his smooth voice was cut directly off, by Xavier's rough voice and stiffened shoulders.

"Kraemer." Simple, just one word. And it went along the lines of a polite shut up; he wasn't sure how to say it aloud. "How about you take the chance of finding out what went wrong this nice, wonderful evening," he uttered, turning on the spot to the younger vampire. Kraemer's face was stricken in silence. "That's exactly what I thought," Xavier muttered, a smile flittering across his face at the stubbornness of Kraemer's thinking.

"Fine," the vampire leaned toward Remus, "We have an idea…"

—**xcvi**—

"Malcolm?" Tonks wasn't exactly sure… where in the _hell_—

"Fuck!" she picked herself up from the ground. "My clumsy arse, damn!" She pushed herself up, her strong, toned arms leaving her dizzy as she glanced the moving ground beneath her… "Oh…" Now she knew where she was. It was the same clearing. The same place she and Remus—

Something moved behind her and instinctively she reached for her wand… which wasn't there. _Dammit_… Of all the stupid things she could have done… she just _had_ to drop her wand on the floor and end up in werewolf territory that she would never be able to navigate through. "Great, that's just great!" She cursed herself. Stress was one thing for her but—She was losing her grip. _I shouldn't have said that to Remus. I should have told him the truth_—

"I _know_!" she said aloud… if anything was going to get better she had to stop fighting with _herself_. _I told him to get—_

She flinched at the sound _in front_ of her now. _Dammit, that better not be a werewolf_… She looked up. Her hair fell in her face. Instantly she scrunched her face up and only scraps of hair fell in her face as her bright pink spikes shone blue in the tattered moonlight. It fell dappled up on the grass under her feet, and the leaves shook and shuddered in anticipation as the breeze moved unevenly and silently. Every one of her senses was focused adamantly on whatever the hell was in front of—

"Who are you? And what exactly are you doing here?" a girl's softened voice lit the darkness. In one moment, the moonlight lit her face, and as she moved it was consumed by shadows the next. Her blonde hair fluttered about her face on the breeze. Her greens eyes were predatory and lit in the darkness. _Definitely a werewolf_… she thought blankly. She couldn't think of a lie fast enough so the girl's voice demanded an answer again. Her voice turned icy, her glare hardened and her footsteps hastened. Her feet were bare against the grass. Tonks was straining to move back a little to show that she meant no harm at all—considering she had suddenly lost her ability to speak…

"I… I apparated here. It was just a random spot. I'm trying to meet a friend and I wound up here—" she tried to spit it out. Finally she came up with her name, "Tonks. I'm Tonks."

"If you even dare move I will have ten hunters find you. They know this forest and they can find you in less than half an hour no matter how far you've gotten. So _stay_ here. Whoever you are, you're fate is better than _that_." She was scrutinized thoroughly before the girl turned toward the camp. Apparently she had been brainwashed… or at least trained to take care of intruders in the area. Tonks couldn't help but think upon the subject of _how_ exactly Greyback trained his endless ranks of werewolves.

It was a few minutes later when she heard the crackle of leaves under several feet. The girl appeared along with someone else, someone taller. _Great, I'm dead. I am _dead! Tonks felt like throwing her arms up in defeat. But before she even thought of moving, she heard a boy's voice. A young teenager's face appeared from the shadows that had veiled it in the dark. "…Tonks?" he wondered uncertainly.

"You know who this is?" The girl turned to him in surprise. Tonks could see it scrawled over her features and riddled in her body language. Through the dark she also could see how alike they looked.

He muttered without glancing at her and walked toward Tonks. She stood still and erect before he shoved out his hand through the darkness like that of a knife stabbing the moonlight, "Yeah, mom was talking about her… Did she say anything to _you_?"

"She mentioned an intruder and another werewolf staying here in the clearing… She was on scouting that night, but she didn't do anything about it. She could smell the werewolf. She didn't say _what_ they were doing here, though. I told her she was crazy and should have ordered them _out_!" the girl smiled with a laugh on her lips as the boy standing directly in front of Tonks burst with a loud laugh himself.

"Go on, I won't hurt you. You're lucky Avery didn't attack you. She can be pretty mean when she doesn't recognize someone." Tonks heard an impatient and high-pitched huff behind Jacob as "Avery" crossed her arms. He didn't pay her any attention, just continued, "I'm Jacob," he said simply. "I'm Malcolm's son."

Tonks only narrowed her eyes as a smile distorted her face in the light… She never knew Malcolm had a son… "That's Avery—"

"I know who I am!" she muttered loudly.

Jacob rolled his eyes as she directed curses his way, "She's my sister."

Tonks smiled vaguely at both of them. She waited a moment until Avery pushed her way past Jacob and pushed her hand in her face with a roll of her eyes. Tonks laughed softly, took it in her own, "Nice to meet you—"

"Yeah, yeah," Avery said offhandedly. She crossed her arms again when Jacob took the lead.

"So _why_ are you here again?"

"I want to see Malcolm."

—**xcvii**—

Malcolm instantly jumped up. "What in the hell are _you_ doing here," he growled.

"No, no, no, I should be asking _you_," his voice rang coolly throughout the cave, "What you are doing here." He cocked his to the side, the light from the burning lamps cast vacant, gaunt shadows across his face, giving him a seemingly haunted look. Malcolm could only stare. Greyback had changed… Well, he had, too. Over the course of sixteen years everyone did but…

Damn, did he look old… Just the sight of the bastard sobered him up.

Malcolm studied his face, not giving into the shame of answering. Greyback didn't _need_ an answer. He was finally able to see Lia so answers didn't matter. Greyback would live. He almost laughed when he started thinking that. Greyback cast him a look that screamed, I will set you ablaze, right now, and yet at the same time… Malcolm didn't give two shits what Greyback was thinking right now.

Damn, I gotta start thinking straight. So he wasn't as sober as he would like to be.

While Malcolm sat stewing in his thoughts, Greyback managed to pace all the way around the room. Lia grasping his hand until it turned white brought him out of the reverie. He looked at her worried, worn and scared face. "It's okay," the werewolf slowly whispered to her.

"Okay?" Greyback cackled at the useless word as if it were the pitiful excuse that either of them were still alive, "Oh no, _okay _is never going to be the definition of your lives—"

He drew back. The next thing Malcolm knew was hot pain against his face, the draining blood that filled his mouth. Goddammit, that bastard broke his jaw. He didn't hear Lia gasp, he didn't hear Greyback draw back for a second time. He did, however, know the feeling of his ribs breaking beneath the force of Greyback's old hunting boots.

His spit on the other werewolf's jeans, the blood staining it dark—and muttered beneath his breath, "Go back to fucking hell!"

"I'll be doing much more than that," he leaned down and jerked Lia up by her wrist. Against the wall, he pushed her and she was struggling with all her might. Her new blouse that Malcolm had put on her in her sleep was ripped open. The bra she wore was torn from her body, and it was all Malcolm could do to lay there helplessly and watch Greyback breathe across her neck and make her shiver involuntarily. She closed her eyes in a haunted pain and didn't open them, not even when Malcolm spoke.

"You leave her the _fuck_ alone, you _bastard_!" He couldn't comprehend his own words through the blood in his mouth. The pain was unbearable, but Greyback understood what he had said—and made sure to not give the werewolf the satisfaction of answering or even acknowledging his words. His cackle was the only thing that filled his blurred thoughts. It was what led him to the darkness that laid cackling at him itself in the back of his head.

The sounds of Greyback laughing, the sound of Lia being pulled forward and the crack of her being slammed roughly against the wall… none of it reached him… he didn't have the strength—Greyback hauled Lia up and threw her against the far wall. She fell unconscious in that very spot, her arm broken and bleeding. Not one word was said from her as Greyback stood over Malcolm.

Get your fucking hands off her.

If you _don't_, Greyback, you bastard…

You won't…

The pain of being kicked in the face made him recoil. He didn't care for being helpless at Greyback's feet.

Lia…

He couldn't feel his face, just hear his useless thoughts and feel the pounding pain reverberate through him again and again, nonstop. Greyback's laughter kept the headache coming on, invited it almost. His thoughts were the worst, they hurt the most.

Get your fucking hands off her—You won't have them in the morning, you mother fucker… Lia…

Lia… I love you, love… I'm gonna help…

Lia… I'll help…

I'll… Lia…

He couldn't think straight. Another pounding, he couldn't feel his face… he couldn't help. His thoughts were all about…

Lia… his thoughts…

Finally, they stopped altogether.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	21. Any Other Astrakhan

_Any Other Astrakhan_

* * *

**A/N: ****Astrakhan is a dark fleece from the lambs of Astrakhan, southern Russian. **

**This country is also Kraemer's home.**

* * *

Eventually, the two vampires had managed to get Remus to agree with their silently shared idea. They had been arguing about what in the _hell_ they were going to do. After all, Coraline was unconscious and they weren't sure if she would react to a werewolf's flesh close to her mouth. They did, of course, smell different than the average human. Kraemer pushed against the door. He had been so long acquainted with others letting him through a door that he fiddled with the doorknob for a few seconds. Xavier could do nothing more than laugh silently.

"You remember when they locked me in that damned cell, don't laugh at me!" Xavier released a un-Xavier like bark of a laugh that made Remus jump. While the two vampires had been bickering, Remus pushed past the two and into the room. He leaned on the bed and it took more than a few minutes for Xavier's keen ears to hear the werewolf talking to his vampire.

Remus sat on the side of the bed, Coraline sleeping sound and unmoving while he stroked her face. His breath was musky against the cream of her face. Her breath was drawn, her chest taut and Remus laid his head on her shoulder and breathed in her scent. It almost wasn't there. He could smell blood and it seemed to be the only thing that was her. The only thing that was a vampire mostly. He sighed greatly. He was glad to be one of the _sane _werewolves. There at least were a few now that he thought about it…

"Xavier's gonna help you. You'll be okay soon enough. I can't… I'm too much of a coward to explain to anyone what's happened… Would—if you had the chance, I wonder what you would say if I asked you what happened." Softly, he stroked the bloodstained fingers, her crafted fingernails and flowing hair. Her face was serene against the darkness of the room. He faintly heard the two vampires arguing endlessly at the door. "What would you say, love?"

That was when Xavier looked up and wandered quietly into the room. "You know being bitten by a vampire is nothing like any other thing you've felt befo—"

"I know," Remus said quickly.

The vampire nodded, "If you would rather, Kraemer could do it. He's very gentle—you won't even realize it, just fall and wake up when he pulls back. You won't relive the memory, either…" It was a few moments before he began to ask the question, "Why won't you talk about it, Remus?"

The werewolf took a deep breath. "Let's just get this over with."

—**xcix**—

Ravenous.

He couldn't think for a better word.

It had been so long since his eyes had reached that icy blue color. He hadn't seen himself, his true, vampyric self in so long. The first five years of his welcoming into the vampire society of B. C. 13 had been long ago but so very short. His skin had been flawless and over time the scars began to show. From the first fire, all the bites, every one of them showed up.

He couldn't think anymore, the memory showed up as bright as the scars did when he had deprived himself of the blood. Monster, you're a monster, his mind couldn't stop saying that to him, over, over and over it came. The mirror was blank with his iced expression.

Beneath the beautiful exterior he kept his thoughts to himself… he never told anyone about his lost thoughts. Not even Xavier, Xavier couldn't get into his mind. "Look at what you are," he muttered to the dim light. He had managed to find a soft bulb to replace the others. It was dark; the burned amber light fell on his face softly, cutting into the harsh angular slim edges, "Look at what you've become."

"You're a damn parasite… A monster." He continued to mutter into the shards of silence minutes later, to himself and the grout of the tile where his words puddle—stuck thickly and gross. The blood had cut him down, his face didn't seem so square, his frame had become lanky and his shoulders fell into relaxation. He didn't feel the need to guard himself. He in fact didn't feel anything like the human Kraemer Korsakov anymore.

A chill blew over the house, over him and fell in the bathroom. His hand rested in the porcelain of the sink where the ice melted down at the warmth pounding in the center of his palm. The blood… it had driven him crazy. The smell of werewolf flesh on his lips, against his tongue, it had been too much to bear. The remnants of the memory clung to the stitches in his thick, fleece-lined jacket, heavy around his thinned shoulders. It had been a gift from the minister when he had actually grown out of using the cane. Apparently the big black monster needed to have cameras or surveyors around the compounds to watch each and everything that belonged to him, his _slaves_.

"You're a monster, what other purpose must you have or serve?"

He wondered aloud. He had to keep his real thoughts alive and squirming in his grasp, worming through his ears and scratching his rebuilt throat. The blood had redone everything about him. He couldn't believe how much he had changed appearance-wise ever since he had become a part of Compound 13, a part held under lock and key. He had disappeared from the vampire and human community alike, no one talked to him, the only vampires that knew he was still alive were the vampires he shared thoughts with.

He grasped the ebony wood in his hand tightly. He felt the blood rush to his other. It flowed gracefully into the sink. The blood of a vampire, he thought blankly, so thick and pointless. His body had already used up Remus' blood—that was what flowed out of his hand now.

The knife was sharp and bloodstained on the black rug beneath his feet. The white tiles around him were spattered with the gruesome smell. He was a parasitic monster. He wasn't sure how much further he could go into being that truthful about a vampire. Sure, he couldn't _kill_ anyone… at least not independently. It took several vampires to actually drain the lifeblood out of a normal human.

But a werewolf was basically an ocean of sweet blood. He was surprised Xavier had done nothing standing over him an hour ago.

Yes, an hour ago, he tried not to mutter it.

His eyes remained icy and bright against the dark shroud of the mirror. He couldn't believe how harsh he was as a healthy vampire… He called it "healthy"; by the bitchy minister's standards this was healthy. His healthy was the darkest his eyes could get, the closest to what he looked like as a human, which he hardly remembered. He had never really had enough blood to reach the beauty of a vampire, the veil of a monster. That's what he called it. Vampires who fed off of humans regularly were the truest form of their own beauty. He had always remained unhealthy. When he didn't have enough blood, his eyes grew shades darker until it reached the darkest blue he had ever seen in his human life.

From healing Coraline's wounds the night before, his eyes had grown a little lighter.

And finally they were at their lightest, a frosted sky blue that really never ended. His hair had grown back to its youthful honey blonde instead of offset white. And now everything was changing back to normal.

The blood flowing down the drain of the porcelain sink was black against the pallid ice. If he had at first ever yearned to stay a beautiful vampire he would have to behave for a long while to receive the worst form of parole and then learn to go through at least half of a human's blood daily to stay this vampyric form of beauty. Never would he live with himself. His eyes were already growing dimmer and darker… he had only had several ounces and they became bright.

It had only been an hour and his body had used it up.

And yet the memory clung tight. It wasn't going to let go. No, he had already talked to Xavier about what had happened to the werewolf earlier. That had been pointless foolhardiness on both Remus' and the human's part. He didn't mind for it now. Xavier had muttered under his breath and said silently that he would take care of it… he was gone on business already but none of that was out of the ordinary.

Nothing could bother him.

Just that damned memory.

"Goddammit, you won't leave me alone, will you? Ya liubliu tebiav, Elaine, I still do, just leave me alone…" he muttered helplessly. The tears escaped the clutches of those icy blue depths. In the dimmed light overhead, he watched them thoughtfully in the mirror. Inside him a battle raged whilst on the outside he was stock-still. The wood grated against the strength of his hand. The minister had made the damned thing unbreakable. He learned soon after it had been shoved in his hand that a metal bar ran through the middle. It had been made just for him… and still he carried it with the knowledge that the minister still couldn't defeat him.

The dim light escaped him, the darkness swallowed him, whole. His words dripped into the pattern of blood, caked dry to the sink's basin. Along with the tears, the memory finally choked him. "I still do, Elaine, I still love you…"

—**c**—

_Okay, okay! Let's all run for a little while. I don't think I've done it enough lately_— Tonks couldn't keep herself from thinking that tripping through brush and running into the worst of fallen branches wasn't the best way to spend her night. Through the crunch of the leaves beneath the trampling feet, she heard Jacob murmur quietly.

"Hop on," his voice grew to a low growl before Tonks could tell him off, that in no way possible could a sixteen-year-old could carry her… In the midst of running and trying to keep up with the two kids, she felt her stomach fling forward before her. She felt the rippling muscles beneath her hands and all the while she tried really hard not to choke the werewolf beneath her. She look left and then right and spotted Avery running a few feet away. She ducked and fought with the branches and Merlin knew what else she ran into, but all the while she kept her footing and also kept up with her brother.

Tonks wondered idly how in the hell Jacob had managed to change without the power of the moon hanging in the sky. Speaking of the moon, it had finally disappeared to be replaced by the quickly rising sun.

"Jacob," Avery whispered loudly. Her voice was pleading and commanded the werewolf's attention. His ears pricked and turned sharply in her direction as he continued running through the forest. He fell low to the ground and Tonks could only hug the strong shoulders and muscle beneath her. The fur was bristly and itching her face, but she lived with it as she heard what Avery was trying to say to Jacob, "If we don't hurry the hell up, dad's gonna murder us both. You hear that?"

She didn't wait for an answer; both of werewolves' ears were strong enough to hear anything moving half a mile away, "That would be a few of the camp's newest recruits who are going to be rewarded graciously if we don't get our asses moving. Now come on, dammit." Jacob turned sharply to the left. At some point during the swift motion, Avery had managed to haul herself onto her brother's back and leaned just as close to Tonks as possible.

Her balance was remarkable, and throughout most of the moving Avery chanced looking up at their surroundings.

Jacob stopped abruptly the sixth time she looked up. Finally Tonks stole a look herself. The trees had thinned considerably. Snow covered the ground still. It probably would until spring came. Tonks jumped off of the werewolf's back, and he fell forward resting his hands against the ground. His breathing ward hard and fast-paced and once Tonks had gained her balance she rushed over to him. Her voice was quick, and he wasn't able to answer, "Wotcher, are you okay? Say something, c'mon. Jacob, do—"

"He's fine. Just get away from him—and let him _breathe_…" Avery said, shrugging on the sentence into the cold chill of the air. It took her a few moments to decide to jerk Tonks roughly away from her brother. Tonks noticed that it was normal for Avery to touch someone, human or otherwise. She was uneasy when it came to falling on her knees next to her brother. Jacob looked up, laughing breathlessly. "You _idiot_! You scared the hell outta me and you're _okay_?!"

"Hey, hey, watch it. I am tired… Come on… we need to keep moving. Let's get into the house." He paused to catch his breath, "Help me u—" Avery yanked him from the ground, her werewolf strength apparent as Jacob wrapped his arm around her shoulders, almost protectively. "Thanks. Don't leave any footprints in the snow," he tossed the words over his shoulders and they seemingly landed with a thump in the snow as Tonks paused and tip-toed around to the back. She followed the two werewolves until Avery stopped and pushed Jacob to the ground.

"What—"

"Shut. Up." Avery's breathing practically disappeared and Tonks wondered where Jacob—he had been pressed in the snow and was rubbing his face and uncovered arms in it. Avery turned her face away from the light of the torches. Five werewolves stepped from the brush that surrounded the cabin. Under the influence of her instinct, Tonks flattened herself against the nearest wall. A wood pile was set between herself and Avery and Jacob. Avery placed a forefinger over her lips as she leaned down to find Tonks, "I will murder you, if you make _one_ sound," the murderous look on her face was sure to relay that message. And Tonks didn't hesitate to be quiet.

She paused to move back, damn, her feet had already fallen asleep. Luckily before she fell back into the snow, she caught herself. She mentally released a sigh. Avery couldn't look up to tell her off, and for that, she was grateful; it wasn't until she moved closer to the corner of the house that she realized just how close the five werewolves were. _Do something!_ _Hide!_

Tonks turned away, and on all fours she crawled, silently hoping that Avery and Jacob would be okay…

_They laid down in the snow… _

_They wiped it over their skin…_ Scents_! _

_They won't be able to find me if they can't catch my scent!_

She leaned against the building where the snow hadn't piled up. Eventually she reached out to cover her hands and wrists in the snow. It melted instantly, of course, but somehow she was sure they wouldn't be able to follow her.

They weren't even looking for _her_. That was when she had the mind to turn her ass around and head back for the corner… _I don't have a wand!_ Another part of her mind told her it would be okay, they wouldn't do anything, she was just a human. The worst would be if she got bitten… and after all that would keep everything between her and Remus settled. _An upside to everything, you really are the terrible optimistic_. She cursed under her breath as she looked back around the corner.

The sun hadn't risen over the treetops. Jacob and Avery were hidden in the shadows behind the woodpile. She could hardly hear Jacob's labored breathing over the other werewolves' rustling. They had gone in the other direction… or at least from what parts and pieces of their voices she heard, that's what she thought. "Av—" Avery's eyes lit up in the darkness, telling her—once again—to shut up.

A few places in the brush had been set on fire. She noticed after she rolled her eyes and looked away from the two kids. Only after she noticed a small fire set back into the woods that revealed a large hole nestled into the ground did she crawl over to the two. "What. Are you. Doing?!"

"They're burning brush…" Avery's words suffocated her own.

"I don't give a damn _what_ they're doing, if they catch us here with _you_ we're dead!" Tonks narrowed her eyes curiously at Avery.

It was with some hesitation that she asked, "And if I wasn't here…"

Avery rolled her eyes, "They would think we're just another couple running around like two goofballs. There are enough werewolves in the camp that don't know us. Most of them over there," she jerked her thumb pointedly in the five's direction, "Are women. They aren't going to know us. The two that are men, I haven't seen hanging around Greyback…"

"So why—"

"Can't you just shut up and hide? I have no clue!" Avery cut her off and with a huff she rolled off her brother and onto her back in the moist grass next to the house.

"_No_…" Tonks put a little more emphasis on the word than she meant, but whatever would get her point across would help, "Why can't we just go inside the house. If you two aren't going to get in trouble, we can go inside and I can hide in a separate room. I looks like they're just burning brush. There's a fire burning near that—" Avery leaped up silently and caught her shoulder.

"Where?" It was a breath—the word—and it lingered right next to her ear in the cramped, cold air.

She narrowed her eyes to catch the slightest flicker in the wood. She was sure Avery had spotted it before her, but she pointed in its direction any, "There." They had turned away from the wood pile and Avery leaned against the corner of the cabin. In a frustrated sigh, she stood bent over slightly and made her way back to Jacob. She shook his shoulder calmly, whispering under her breath. He looked up with a groan.

"C'mon, I'll make Tonks carry you," she muttered with a laugh. Despite her words, Jacob reluctantly plucked himself from the melted cocoon of snow that had surrounded him and he jogged past the wood pile. He stooped low against the house, his hand resting against the course wood. The wind had dug into it, making the scared surface almost unbearable. Jacob's didn't even seem phased, but when Tonks leaned up against the house she slipped. And of course caught a splinter.

"Dammit!"

Avery immediately pushed her forward, almost face-first into the snow, "If you don't shut up, I'll make Jacob carry _you_—"

Jacob reached back and jerked Tonks by her wrist toward the back porch. "_C'mon_," he muttered roughly under his breath. He stalled suddenly and Tonks crashed against him, it surprised her that his strong frame withstood the impact. He grasped her arm and dragged her through the screen door. The few moments between Jacob leaning up against the paint-chipped door—faded through time and relentless weather—and being ushered inside were a blur. The only thing she remembered was glancing at the main room, a few couches, an old unused grate and a dusty pool table littered the room. She looked up from where she stood near the door, as the two wandered in front of her. Jacob had grabbed Avery's hand quickly, noticing that the werewolves outside were practically patrolling outside. He whispered from the front room to Tonks where she still stood unmoving in the kitchen. "Come on! We need to hide. _You_ need to hide, hurry! They're coming!"

The splintering, smashing and bright crashing of the glass of a window and the door made Avery and Jacob freeze. Tonks dove for a cabinet, and the stormed in recklessly. She held her breath the whole time.

—**ci**—

They're stinging my face. Would you kiss them from my lips if I let you one last time?

She laughed blankly.

The tears were so pointless, why was he letting this hurt? "_E_—"

_"__Shh, you don't have to say anything_… _I know—eventually we'll have everything back into place. It will all be perfect again, all we have to do is fix this, this problem and your brother. I know we can make it work, it just has to __be—_"

"_It just has to be forgotten. I have to go, my love, I can't let you get hurt or let you get in the way of something that wasn't even your fault_." He was only fifty-three. Just fifty-three and his love was seated next to him, grasping his cold hand. His eyes were already growing lifeless. He knew she was recalling the days when nothing but a spark lit his life, his eyes, even his laugh had a little crackle to it that she had loved and adored.

As children… he could only smile back at the time when they would run around and just figure out several ways to sneak out of the house to see each other. They had been seven… seven when that playground had become their favored spot. Seven when both of their lives opened up to the brightest world they could look forward to.

And seven, it had been seven when his brother had attacked him in front of the fire. The late night chill had sent him wandering about to warm up. The fire, he could only guess, welcomed his brother forth and let him know that another unsuspecting victim was just waiting for his warm, impatient mouth.

He could still feel the blood leaving his veins.

He could still hear their struggling on the floor, his fast paced breathing and grunting that almost begged to be quieted by the hand of death, standing silent nearby.

He could still smell the blood. It had welled greatly in spurts it had come. His brother had only been a vampire for a few days. He could tell by his inexperience and how much blood he had lost.

Kraemer could still see the gun Elaine had held up in her own hands, and the fear that had spun her eyes, still see in the corner of his eye, his own hand wave for her to pull that damned trigger, and send his condemned brother to the afterlife.

The worst thing of that whole night had been the fact that he had to fetch the icy blade from the building just on the outskirts of the grounds, standing overwhelming in front of the iron fence. The blood from the neck wound… he wielded the axe above his head, giving into the pull that led to his brother's demise, and eventually he had stopped himself from gazing intently at the black blood that spilled continuously from the opened body.

"_Kraemer_…" Elaine said. It had almost been inaudible, a frightened squeak of a mouse. But his hearing… dammit, damn him, that foolish bastard, he cursed his brother silently. His hearing and vision had been perfected. An hour ago he had settled his bifocals on the nearest table in front of one of the vases, filled with Elaine's favorite roses. He had given up totally on losing his humanity. He had already lost it, lost what had been him completely. He didn't understand, but he felt his grip gain strength. His vision had cleared and if anything he could see everything, even the farthest horizon. His hearing… His damned brother…

Not once, though, had he felt any security since he had lifted himself from the Persian rug that had decorated the floor. "_Yes, my dear_," he wondered aloud simply.

"_I love you_." He smiled softly, leaned over and kissed her on the lips, softly. He never wanted the moment to end. But it did, he was pulling away and it seemed as if he would never be able to rewind his life to give into the want to kiss her again. He stumbled away from the bed silently.

It was standing in the doorway, with his head bowed helplessly and his hand resting upon the frame of the door to steady himself, "Ya liubliu tebiav. I always will, I just need to be let alone."

With the heaviest of hearts he stepped out of the door, out of the mansion and out of Elaine's life for good.

—**cii**—

The roar made him jump. The mirror he stood in front of had been smashed. The shards missed him by inches, but not by luck. Xavier had slammed the door across the hall and Kraemer suddenly found himself wondering what in the hell to do… His dark sapphire eyes opened wide. They weren't the darkest that they had ever been but by the time he got out of the house he felt his eyes burning in pain. He stumbled into the hall blind and realized that fire was all around him. Dammit, don't let the house burn down… don't burn the house down, you monster. You only want me…

His hand flailed in front of him and he tried and failed to make his way down the hall. He was tripped up either by the carpet or… "Kraemer! Run!" Xavier's loud words flew over his ears with the smoke. Fuck, he was choking no… No, dammit… Hands grasped his shoulders and his large frame was hauled up. No, they were here to take him away.

"Xavier!" The sounds of vampyric shrieks echoed through his head. Remus' shouts were exhaled with a last sigh from the vampire. They were taken, the compound had actually captured them. Xavier had been caught. And now everything was going up in flames.

Flames…

—**ciii**—

By the time Remus had apparated… he hadn't gotten the fucking chance to grab Xavier and he hadn't found Kraemer coughing through the blistering smoke. He wasn't sure why there had been people storming Nymphadora's apartment. They didn't sound like werewolves… they had been too quiet. And they certainly didn't _smell _werewolves. He appeared silently in the clearing in front of the fountain entrance to the underground camps. Maybe Lia was still—

He hadn't had the time to search for Lia because it had been an hour later of being dragged down into a tunnel that he appeared in the morning sun surrounded by overgrown brush. Four werewolves—they were mostly women he didn't know—took him along on a brush-fire assignment from the head man leading the group. He had just been caught in the midst of everything. All he wanted, dammit, was a warm place to go to sleep.

It had been a long time since he last found himself pushed into the small uncomfortable crevice directly below the entrance, but thinking about it now seemed to make him even more tired. He didn't give a shit where he could lie down, just somewhere… anywhere. He was about to mention going back after the entrance had been cleared, but they beat him to speaking and the four led him toward a cabin. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath.

From the direction they came from the back part of the building itself was facing away; but even because of this, it didn't stop Remus from considering the high chance that no one inhabited it.

Soon enough Remus had followed them blindly around to the front. The sound of the splintering or the door beneath the strongest werewolf's boot made Remus unconsciously step away. The smashing sound of glass made him look up suddenly to find out what the hell the others were doing.

Silently, he avoided playing follow-the-leader and made his way through the snow that still lingered in front of the building in the winter-sun around to the back. A porch surrounded by pitiful screen and a swinging door met him, as he stepped around the corner he noticed recent hand prints in the snow, narrowing his eyes as he stepped through the back door and into a dust-filled kitchen.

The sounds of moving in another room met him but his keen ears could hear the breathing. He could taste the sweat on the tip of his tongue—could see the terrified face in his mind. It was a human, another human hiding… the source of the careless handprints in the snow outside.

The shuffle of metallic pans made him smile softly. He knew the smell underlying the sweat any day. She was so—

"What are you doing here?" The booming voice of the lead werewolf met his ears before the sound travelled to the kitchen. Apparently someone else was here, too.

The squeak of someone's voice masked the sound of his hand on the cabinet's handle. The continuous pitter-patter of muttering and pounding footsteps throughout the house shielded his welling adrenaline from pouring into droplets of sweat on his forehead.

He yanked back the door and it didn't make a sound. His hand covered Tonks' mouth immediately, his smile met her widened eyes, and his lips on hers silenced any of their fast-paced breathing.

Somehow, he managed to squeeze into the tight space—if he could hide long and quietly enough, they would think he had gone back to the camp. But his hands on her face, touching her skin made him dismiss any thoughts of the other werewolves. His strong ears picked up the sounds of two teenagers' voices and the complaints of how the four werewolves had "ruined their fun" resonated to a smile on his face.

"Jacob and Avery," Tonks said with a soft laugh—apparently she could hear bits of the conversation, too. "They're half-brother and sister…" Before she could explain breathily, Remus stopped her with a heavy kiss.

"And that's what they're pretending to do," she said simply.

He smiled and tried to hide his laughter. "Oh, I'm not pretending, Nymphadora—"

"Don't call me that…"

"You said you loved someone else," Remus muttered, changing subject through the darkness.

"I know," Tonks said softly. "I wanted to show you how it feels."

Remus pulled back softly. "Tonks."

"Yeah," she asked, laughing lightly. She knew what was coming up, his reprimand and then the werewolves finding them because he was going to make her laugh…

In the darkness the werewolf rolled his eyes, "Don't do that again, Nymphadora."

"Remus," she said, using the same tone.

"Hmm," he laughed against her lips, his voice breathy.

"Shut up."

"I don't have to."

"Yes. You. Do." Her lips were on his again, fervent and strong, but he leaned back and muttered.

"Make. Me."

It was their smiles against each others' lips that they sank, finally, into a peaceful kiss… And this time nothing was there to interrupt them and there was more electricity in it than Tonks could have ever imagined.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


	22. Virgin Chintz

_Virgin Chintz_

* * *

**A/N: 'I'm like a sour patch—A wedding batch of roses you threw across my floor' – **_**Blue **__**October**_**, "Come in Closer" **

**Just trying to give some luvin' to the story. Hope this works. ;)**

* * *

"Let me go, goddammit!" Xavier struggled, bearing his fangs at anyone who was willing to stop and stare. His fucking father was going to get it or let him go. He was _furious_!

The question of the matter wasn't who the stronger vampire was—it was more so who could last the longest. And that was his downfall, dammit.

Xavier spat several curses at all three of his captors; the two holding him tightly by his upper arms were secretly scared to let him go or even chance easing their grip on his forearms—he could smell the fear strong on their bodies. Their thoughts were screaming so loudly; he would be surprised if any of the vampires lining the hallways couldn't hear them.

Speaking of bystanders, there were hundreds of them—probably commanded by his father—standing and watching his violent struggle. Amused. It was shameful because all three of these men were hundreds of years younger.

Xavier managed only once to kick the vampire leading this "parade". He had fallen to the floor and Xavier didn't hesitate to thrash against the two holding him and drop to his knees.

He could feel the flesh beneath his teeth, sharp and brittle, but the black blood and chill that ran through his spine were sudden. It spurted everywhere—and Xavier made sure to leave a large wound. He tore deep, the bone cracked in his grip. He had caught the vampire's leg and refused to let go.

_I am not coming into this place without a fight and if an assload of drama is what comes with it, then you better kick everyone's ass into gear along with me, father_, Xavier couldn't hide the thought from anyone. He didn't much care to.

But it was directed up to the top floor. He could see the ghostly image in his head of the minister seated in the large leather chair—turned away from the door and facing the wall of glass that looked over the whole grounds of the compound—his hands a steeple of thought and complete concentration in front of him.

The only response that came was the unrelenting pain of the remaining two vampires' grips on his arms. Xavier just forgot to block out his father's lazy cackle out of his mind; it came immediately with the pain. With one last struggle, he heard his father's words in the two vampires' heads.

_Bring him immediately_. _I'll deal with him myself_.

—**cv**—

"Let's get out of here."

Those words brought her back into her right mind. She remembered that they were surrounded by a dusty, dark—and nay cramped—cabinet. They would probably get in trouble if the other werewolves caught them—four who were probably, _not friendly werewolves in the least or werewolves in a good mood because early morning is coming_… And they were missing breakfast.

Her thoughts were a mess of endless words. Tonks floated in and out of rambling at herself for getting into this predicament.

Remus' fingers fluttered against her face. Her laugh was breathy as the darkness around her shuddered and solidified.

The headache was coming on.

She kissed Remus once, chastely almost and leaned out of his touch. She couldn't keep from whispering, she had to shake the headache from lack of air. "What do we do?"

He said nothing, just moved from out of the cabinet. In actuality as he looked at it, it wasn't that small… for one person. He placed his forefinger of his lips, the small smile of his face lit up. The lie was blooming—she could almost hear his thoughts.

Tonks sat in the darkness for some time; her combat boots were tight around her calves and soon enough she knew her feet were asleep. At some point she began to congratulate herself for being so patient, quiet, and not freaking out with claustrophobia. It was surprising. Tonks hadn't managed to wait this long in a while.

This broke her record of waiting for Kingsley in the Ministry. _He may be a busy man, but Scum-jeer, or Grime-chum or whatever Malcolm liked to call the minister, needs to make it a Ministry law_ not_ to be late for_ any_ meeting_.Besides, in the first place, if she was stood up people opted to avoid her. For good and bad reasons.

She chuckled softly at the thought and suddenly snorted… "Oops." It made her smile a little harder, but the cabinet was flung open with a bright, "Ah!" and the spark in her eyes—the smile, everything—disappeared as she jumped in surprise.

"Can you not manage to be quiet for a few seconds?!" Avery's snapping made her smile again, but the girl didn't notice through the darkness as she squeezed into the cabinet and closed the door briskly, "Move over!"

"Where's Jacob?"

Avery shut her up with a quick huff—she probably rolled her eyes, too, but Tonks was never sure of it, "He's going back with the others. They were telling me that Remus had disappeared. Like they care." Through the darkness she couldn't hear Avery's breathing, and without thinking, Tonks reached out and touched her shoulder… or at least she thought it was her shoulder.

"What are you doing?! Stop touching me! That's my boob! Stop!" Avery shuffled backwards and knocked several pans from a shelf behind her. "Ow! _Don't_ touch me again," she warned.

After a few minutes of Avery burning several holes into the back of her head, Tonks managed to laugh as the werewolf muttered, "Okay… I think it's safe to get out. C'mon—What are you _laughing_ at?" Her glare only made Tonks laugh harder.

"You—"

"_What_?" Her glare only made Tonks laugh harder.

"You—You've got ketchup on… the back of your pants."

Avery leaned farther back than Tonks could have ever managed and her hair hid her face as she growled. "Dammit!" she shrieked, "Who-the-hell-ever lived here was too fucking unclean for their own good!" She didn't bother grabbing something to wipe it off. "There are clothes in the back, I'm gonna go grab a jumper and some new pants. _Stay_." She pointed down sharply at the ground.

"And I thought _you_ were the werewolf!"

"Ha!" Avery called from the back.

Instead of listening to the fourteen year old, she walked into the sitting room. From the black and white tile she stepped on bright ivory floors, coated with dust from several years of abuse, weather and time. The dark, wide kitchen opened up to an even wider space, open and airy, full of windows and… more dust as she sneezed. The dark, toned paneling that ran throughout the kitchen fell away to reveal a once-bright coat of blue paint. it was covered in grime and slashed away from various knife-fights.

Countless rugs littered the floor. She didn't have to wonder what they were for. It was apparently a worthy hang-out spot for werewolves—guys and girls alike.

Tonks wandered further into the room, careful not to step on the mats. Stepping up the set of stairs that led into the larger part of the room, she focused on the pool table, sitting there in the dusky light. The coarse baize that lined the table had been ripped by numerous claws over time. She could hardly imagine what they had used the stripes and solids for… Cue sticks were lined along a nearby wall. She could just imagine Malcolm standing there, holding the cue ball out to her, challenging her to a game.

With a small chuckle, she turned, realizing someone stood behind her. Through the dim light she could make out Remus. A smile lit her face.

It faded immediately, "About earlier, Remus—"

"It's alright. I know—"

"I didn't mean… I mean, everything—I just got ahead of myself and I couldn't stop from getting back—"

"Avery told me, Tonks, about the mood swings, being sick in the morning. I know; Avery told me."

"What?" _What in the hell was he talking about?_

"You're pregnant, love."

—**cvi**—

The pain was excruciating. The pounding. It was back again. And through it all he let himself evaluate his situation.

There was blood caked to his face from his busted cheek. Pus was already making his jaw swell. He needed to drain the fluid soon or he would have a hell of a hard time fixing that mother fucking broken bone. Another bone. His mandible. Left side. Maxilla too, it was a fucking pulp. Just another wound. Some time and a little bandaging would make it all go away.

Bandaging wouldn't, however, fix his fucking headache. He couldn't move, couldn't try. Blood was flowing from a shattered tooth. He let his tongue search the root, and with a recoiling wince he was sure that the remaining part of the root was embedded in his swollen mouth.

Gay-fucking-ass-beard had certainly done a number on him.

Not even a smile cracked through the blood at the name he and Lia had given the mother fucker years ago. He couldn't manage one—definitely not if he couldn't even manage leaning up to see where he was now. A black bruise had at some point been handed over while he had been moved; through the darkness his unharmed right eye tried to focus on the gas lamp perched from a low hanging s-hook on the ceiling.

This was Greyback's cave.

Mother-fucking-A, he was in Greyback's cave. He knew this room from experience. He remembered being dragged here after his fifth fight, during his first week in the camp… it had been over two decades. And yet he had seen this place many a time over in his dreams—not once had Greyback hesitated from stepping out of the corner and stabbing him in the back.

Just like the other werewolf had done to Malcolm's father.

He heard the rambling footsteps, whispering the most unimportant secrets imaginable to the wet cavern floor—boots slick against the rocks, mouths fervent in sharing tidbits of gossip in the chilled air, each body stinking away useless years while tangled amongst thousand of wasted lives, insignificant moths craving warmth is the worst earthly hell he had ever been in.

Malcolm heard them coming.

The broad-axe in the lamp-light was unmistakable.

—**cvii**—

All she could see was Greyback. He was standing in the fucking way. Move, goddammit, she thought silently.

He had planned this out. It was a lure; the trap was hidden in the middle of everything somewhere. He would have someone else planning something stupid so she would be distracted from the real big event.

Finale… Finale.

That was when she saw the axe. It was another broad-axe. Another kill he had in his sight… and he was leering right in front of her, ready to laugh at her helplessness. What was he planning?!

The execution room was all the way across the camp, away from everyone because he let the bodies rot until their bones were left, each with a distinct mark in the pelvic bone… where the tails grew in the moonlight. He kept them because he always organized a killing—the time, the place, and the werewolf.

Like a pack leader that leads a hunt.

Those who were literally on the chopping block transformed in the moonlight immediately before the execution.

Always.

The broad-axe was made of pure silver and it was the smooth edge he touched to the backs of their necks while they crouched on all fours, naked—waiting and burning… cringing from the silver, clenching their jaws in defiance, waiting for him to make the move.

Greyback had acquired another nickname, from everyone—he was the sinning "wolf" in innocent, bloodstained sheep's clothing. _Literally_. That was why his old, denim jacket was lined with plaid fleece. He took on the title with pride. And everyone was absolutely right about him. A ruthless mother fucker. _Literally_… by Jacob's standards.

If Jacob could see me now, she thought blankly.

She didn't care for Greyback in front of her. The only thing that bothered her had been the one thing she hadn't had for sixteen years.

He was unconscious, breathing—yeah, laboriously at that—and they had taken his leather jacket, shirt and torn his jeans to the knee. Malcolm would be crouching soon, in silver shackles that were welded to the rock.

Malcolm would be putting on a show.

The tears were burning her eyes.

Greyback was beginning to laugh.

Everyone would be out, and the moon was on its way.

—**cviii**—

He had apparated away. It was the only way out and the last thing of the Wizarding community he had. Definitely handy. But Kraemer had to get away. As far away as he possibly could.

Only, the thought of the place stayed—the image was stuck in his head like it had always been. It was the only thing he would think of… or at least immediately. The compound and that damn casino and hotel—Kraemer called it, _The Suicide Getaway_—definitely was it obvious; he had to be discreet. And the forests of Russia were the best choice he had.

The room opened up to him—exploded in his vision—and he appeared staggering as he gained footing on the destroyed floor.

Kraemer inspected the room. He had to make sure no one was hiding anywhere.

Decades since he had been there, the ceiling had fallen in. The roof still stood, but the small bathroom tiles had disintegrated underneath the debris—the wood beneath the floor and everything else around it as well. Tiles had been busted throughout several fights that had happened after the funding had stopped. The government had fallen, his happiness has had too. Until he met Elaine in this very room.

The clawfoot was still standing but… probably not for very long. One of the shining gold feet was broken—the remaining three just worn, chipped pieces of shit. Dust and dirt had built up so badly in it that it didn't look like it could take much more.

Several blizzards had cracked one of the two windows in the corner of the room. The other had stayed open throughout the years of abandonment. The plumbing had been torn from the walls to sell. Not to mention melted down to make knives—that's where the scars on his face had been from, hot metal someone had thrown at him.

Elaine had been there to help with the burns.

"Fuck the bathroom…" Kraemer turned his back on the ashen tile and walked into the main part of the building.

The sitting room had been the biggest room of the whole site. A few worn sofas had been scattered about the room. Each week whoever won a knife fight got to sit in the chair that leaned back; all day it was theirs. The lowest of the losers had to sit on the cold wood floor or the big-bad-bitch—an old rocking chair intended to give you splinters. Not once had Kraemer sat down in it.

He laughed at all the memories.

Each day… It was a struggle, but he knew then who he could trust and who needed to be gutted. It drew him closer to people in general. _Then_…

_Then_ at least.

"Fuck people."

Kraemer turned and walked through the kitchen—same blank white tile, just in much better shape. It held an old square table with ten chairs all around… It never was enough. Cabinets and assorted storage containers lined the far walls and each corner; all of it stacked up. The last of the food the animals got.

He didn't even want to wonder.

A fire place was the only heat source in the whole building. But there was a small window on the farthest facing wall. That one they left open for the remaining smoke, and it always stayed that way. Maybe that was why the walls looked as if they would come down any second around him.

The last room was where they all slept. On small cots. If there was a fight for beds when there was a visitor… an unlikely prospect… whoever lost slept in the sitting room or outside on a cool night.

He had always chanced a lose every now and then. The stars and playground at night were always so much better. And with Elaine, the greatest.

They had met in the bathroom—the busted up piece of shit. Kraemer remembered vaguely she had screamed the night they heard the shooting. And the explosions. She had been taking a bubble bath when he had walked in and saw her crying in the hot water, scared.

"Fuck the war and everyone else's problems."

There was only one door in the whole place, in the front room. And he made sure to slam it out of anger behind him on the way out.

Life hadn't been what he wanted, but _now_ it was fucking hopeless. Now, he was running to his childhood nightmare to escape the nightmare he would have to live in for the rest of enternity. "Goddammit." He slammed his fist against the rough brickwork of the outside of the building. Panting, he stood on the porch.

Kraemer let the memories of the place flood in.

As a kid he loved to sneak out of the window in the bathroom, complaining to all the others he had to go so they would let him out of the room. It was true… sort of. Being with the same people, in the same rooms, at all times, during every goddamn day… he would have gone crazy.

Elaine preserved his sanity then. They were six the night they met in the bathroom; it had been her first night there. Seven when they decided to screw being with everyone else. The war had started a little before they were that age. And at thirteen, bombs started to fall; it was then that they decided to walk right into the city.

They found Elaine's family after a day of searching. All three of them were dead. Of course, Kraemer had managed to drag his little brother along—mostly because the scrawny bastard had been scared of being alone with all the bigger kids.

He laughed now.

His little brother had always fought to be with the bigger, tougher guys. Even if Kraemer himself lost in a fight, his little brother would stand by the winner.

Now it seemed so immature and childish. Maybe that was why he was dead now.

Dead…

The idea had struck Kraemer just like death had long ago. The only thing that could kill a vampire…

Flames.

—**cix**—

Tonks didn't do anything except blink. Since when in the hell… She couldn't believe it. Pregnant, _pregnant_, finally. But…

"Remus?"

"Yes, Nymphadora?"

"Don't call me that—"

"What did you want to say," Remus asked with a huff of laughter.

His smile faded away quickly, the color in his face was white in the shadows, and his breath was stolen away by her words. "Who's the father?"

"W—What do you mean?" He stepped closer to her, unsure if she was really alright.

"I—I think… I don't know," she muttered, waving him off, "I just, I'm not sure if you're alright with it."

Remus' lips tightened into a narrow line; his eyes squinting through the darkness, he studied her and whispered firmly, "It doesn't matter if I'm alright with it, love, we're _going_ to have this child." She was breathless once he wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind, and hiding his face against the crook of her neck. Her sweet vanilla scent filled his lungs as he sighed. "I love you." Her arms were around him immediately. Remus—from his surprise at how fast she moved—let out an unintentional, '_oof_' that was smothered by her lips.

Tonks leaned back and looked at him, disheveled hair and silent smirk, "I love you, too, Remus." Someone clearing their throat made Tonks look around the room. When she found Avery leaning in the doorway smiling widely and trying not to laugh, Tonks rolled her eyes.

"What?" Avery threw up her hands. The sweater she wore was bright red, the pants reached halfway down her calves, barely covering her knees. "This was all I could bloody find, damn, quit looking at me like that!" she squealed. "Can we go back to the camp now? Oh, I forgot, who's in charge? Let's _go_, already!"

As Remus chuckled Tonks muttered loudly so Avery could hear her, "I swear she sounds more and more like Malcolm every second." Remus couldn't stop himself from agreeing with her.

Avery turned as she hurried to the front door, walking backwards on the front stoop. "What was that?" she called sharply. She could hear them laughing; her face reddened and she jumped down into the snow with a loud _crunch_. "Nevermind!" Throwing her arms up and waltzing through the snow, Avery looked along the line of the trees as she ran to the crest of the hill that guarded the front of the house. "Remus!" Crouching against the ground she watched as they stepped from the house. Huffing at their holding hands, she waved the other werewolf's attention _her_ way.

His expression needed answering, but all she could do was laugh at him. "C'mon, there's no one there but there will be once Greyback gets the answer he wants from Jacob. C'mon, dammit!"

Tonks looked around the house—her auror instincts kicking in as she sprinted up the hill. "Don't push yourself, stupid." The concerned tone in Avery's voice made her smile, "We. Have. To. _Leave_."

"Can we apparate?" Tonks glanced quickly to Remus as he nodded. She moved close to him, linking their arms together. Avery's brow knitted in confusion.

"What in the bloody hell is '_apparate_'?" With an unwavering skeptical look on her face, she paused at Remus motioning her forward.

He only shook his head at her, chuckling, "You can either stand beside Tonks or me, but it's just a quicker way to get there. You need to hold on really tightly, I don't want to have half of you there and the other half—"

"What?! No! I'm perfectly fine, I can just change here and get there on foot." She crossed her arms over her chest, her face stern and waiting for a challenge.

Remus looked confused. "You can change…"

"At will, yeah, my mom says I get it from my dad—nothing new," she grumbled. "You guys go ahead and go, I'd rather go alone anyway. If they find me, I'll just tell them to bugger the bloody hell off." She could hear Tonks laughing as a loud pop filled her ears. Avery shook her head and rolled her eyes as she disappeared through the trees on foot, a monstrous howl echoing through the forest seconds later.

In the silence of the morning—as the sun started to bake through the clouds and glare down at the snow covering the trees—a werewolf stepped from behind the cabin. Rubbing his grubby hands together, he yowled hungrily in answer to his leader's daughter, chuckling darkly with what he had just discovered.

With his caked yellow nails digging into the soft, exposed dirt, the crunch of the snow beneath his padded feet was loud as he readied himself to unleash the worst of the werewolf army on the rest of the country.

—**cx**—

Xavier spat the blood from his mouth violently.

Watching as it spattered all over his father face, he couldn't hold back the wide smirk. He would never forget that expression—taken aback, silent, and shocked.

None of it registered in the other vampire's eyes seconds after the impact exploded real and unbelievable in his neck. Maybe Xavier's throat had been crushed… he wasn't totally sure—and didn't really want to find out—but he was sure he wasn't going to be dying anytime soon. His father damn well knew that the only thing that could possibly kill him would be sunlight. And hell, it was rising fast… So why not?

He cursed in at the minister in his head. His voice wouldn't work anymore.

_Xavier, I _will_ kill you. Tonight, soon_—

_Shut_—he stuttered, he couldn't think straight, _the fuck up._ The minister towered over him. Xavier looked up—having been knocked against the sky blue wall wasn't such a great position to be in, he realized as he studied the blank white eyes. The vampire contorted his face in confusion as his father laughed. The other looked hungrily down at him. _What do you want of me?_

Xavier stumbled through the words, barely able to keep his head up. Maybe his throat was crushed… maybe, unfortunately for him it brought nothing but pain. The sparks in his eyes were a result of the pressure the minister's fingers put on them. What the fuck? Was he trying to gouge his eyes out with his own damn fingers? He stopped wondering once everything grew completely silent.

Throughout the blinding task of breathing, Xavier managed to lower the volume of his father's explosion of a voice through the quiet; going through his head as water, he caught the echo of each word as it solidified into lead—each one making his head ache much more than he appreciated.

_I want you to suffer under my hand. You have no right to be a vampire. You own no claim to seeing the night sky. No fucking law you abide by allows you to hear the gasp of a human beneath you. The taste of blood on your lips is prohibited, and damns you to every bruise I give you. The cold of death should have stolen away the ability for you to feel prickling skin of fear. And I will take it all away. You deserve no right to live in _my _world. You_—

_And _you_ have gotten a little rusty over the century_. Xavier struggled through an attempt at any means of a comeback. Surprisingly, he got a reaction—his stomach was crushing itself, he noticed after his father's foot collided with his gut. Nonetheless, Xavier was right—both vampires knew.

His father was being very lenient.

The fear was wafting off of him, and the minister had to be damned if he couldn't fucking smell it.

"Xavier, Xavier," he knelt down to his son's level, placing his hand roughly on the other's tense shoulder, and beaming as Xavier cringed at the contact. "I think I'll say—"

He was up in a matter of seconds.

He couldn't fucking move, didn't even register that his father had moved. The only thing he knew was that his father's shined left dress shoe was the last thing he remembered seeing before it crashed down on him in a storm of thunder and lightning. The flash of a swollen eye straining under pressure and the boom of a crushed brow made him run away from the tears that were trying so hard to come. And eventually the thunderstorm lured him out, where complete silence of an open night greeted him.

It was nothing. Death was nothing.

—**cxi**—

She was panicking.

Shit. She was _panicking_. Calm down, calm down. Thinking the words wasn't working, it wasn't helping, and Greyback was laughing at her!

Lia glared at the back of his head, hoping that somehow her acidic gaze would burn a hole right through to his brain. So far it wasn't working very well… _Gaybeard_ had put his hands on his hips, laughing his ass off. He could for all she gave a damn, it was just the broad-axe that made the adrenaline in her blood poisonous; she couldn't believe it.

It _was_ unbelievable and so goddamn real in front of her. She could feel the fabric of a dream threaded in with it all. It couldn't be fake. Greyback had been waiting for this moment his whole fucking life.

What remained of Malcolm's clothes had been ripped off of him. Lia watched with fear in her eyes. The whip was perched and hanging from an old rusted nail; she knew what the mother fucker was for. Silver tips glowing in the light as the sun rose sluggishly, the reality was filtering in through the opening in the top of the cave.

In her confusion, Lia noticed Greyback smirk at her, his silhouette outline by the shroud of the cavern. On her knees she wept, silently begging him not to take away her life, her love, and what remained of her actual future. Malcolm. Jacob.

Her bound hands kept her from covering her eyes, from hiding from the vicious monster. The more she struggled the more she hated him. The more pain that radiated from her broken wrist, the angrier she got—she couldn't stand waiting.

No now, not ever. Not anymore.

That was when her strong nails ripped through the rope.

She leaned against the wall of the cave, wet with the chemicals that muddled her senses. Feigning defeat, Lia looked up at him through her brow, cursing him to hell with her thoughts, and _still_ waiting. Just waiting for a chance, some sort of hope… She had waited sixteen years for a moment. For just one moment.

The silver dagger was hidden in the side of her army boot, the boot strong and defiant against the flat surface of the cave floor. She glanced once at her right foot and focused again on Greyback. All he had to do was fucking turn around so she could signal to Malcolm, just one minute—she only needed—

A distraction. It was then she saw Greyback's ears prick.

He turned to the entrance of the cave and walked—more so stomped in a huff—to the entrance. He disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel, lowering his head as the low clearance slowed him down; with Greyback went the other werewolf in the cave. Lia strained to hear any sign of his return as she jumped up and hurried over to Malcolm.

He didn't hear the gasp escape her lips once she saw his face. She couldn't believe what they had done to him, and yet again, she could imagine every bruise a result of Greyback's strong fist. She knew both hands personally.

There was infection already settling in his jaw. He had a crushed maxilla, or at least that's what it looked like—it was hard to tell for the swelling. But as she heard footsteps of an approaching werewolf she could do nothing but make sure that he was awake. At her kiss, he turned his bloody hair toward her, crushing his lips against hers as he groaned at the contact.

Lia pushed away from him, scared that his crushed jaw would be harmed even more. Swiftly, deftly, she hurried over to the opposite side of the cave on all fours; she was sure to yank the knife from her boot.

With her hands flat against the wall, she waited silently.

After sixteen years, she could wait a little longer for the moment of Greyback's death.

—**cxii**—

"Come on, come on." Her bare feet were loud against the grass amongst the sound of birdsong. She could hear Jacob screaming inside the cave over the trickle of the spring. He was back, he finally had a plan—and through the coursing adrenaline and excitement, she hurried through the wide mouth of the tunnel with a torch in hand.

She realized that it was more than just the roar of Jacob. Everyone was fighting; fires were lit in every possible space where werewolves didn't stand. Different gases had been poured in each one and eerie colors swam before her eyes. Red fury danced on the wall. Distressed blue played with shadows on the floor. Green chased every moving body in the central cave. Yellow—nasty, disgusting, ghostly yellow—spun webs of words as a sea of voices flooded the air. Bright, loud, buoyant purple lit the whole of the camp. Hardy, fearless orange lit sparks in every angered man and woman in the camp. White flares of fear flew into the air, and through it all the smell of blood mingled with the chemicals in the water.

There wasn't any pure blackness anywhere, and she knew she wouldn't be able to sneak through without being dragged in amongst the fighting.

Hell had broken loose. The war had fucking begun.

—**cxiii**—

He felt the pull of his heart—the ice in his stomach—when he heard Greyback's footsteps beside him. The weight of someone's presence over him was looming, laughing. He couldn't move to make sure what Greyback would do next.

That was when he felt the strength and comfort of someone's hand on his right shoulder.

Jacob.

He closed his eyes. Wincing at the pain of his bruised eye, Malcolm tried his hardest to lean up. In the end he felt another pair of hands against his back, against his flushed skin. Hell, he was sweating.

As he looked around through his right eye, he noticed Lia smiling at him. He tried to smile but stopped himself. Fucking Greyback, mother fucking Gaybeard, all his damn fault for this—he could curse Greyback to hell all he wanted, but it wasn't helping. He could hear hurried footsteps coming faster and faster toward the cave. They had to get the hell outta there.

The werewolf looked around the cave—the only light being from the sun already making its way over the trees. The clouds had broken, parted, and disappeared. He was grateful, in the least it wouldn't rain.

The footsteps were getting closer until someone actually appeared out of the shadows of the entrance. With a sigh of relief he saw that it wasn't Greyback.

"Remus!" He called the other werewolf over. Horror showed in the other werewolf's eyes and Malcolm couldn't keep himself from laughing. In the end he regretted laughing or talking at all. Damn, his fucking jaw hurt. His mouth was still bleeding and the blood was driving him crazy. He hadn't been in the camp long enough to actually breathe in the chemicals everyone else inhaled. Eventually he settled with damning Greyback to a life in hell.

He didn't hear the question Remus had aimed at him; eventually, the second time the other werewolf asked he was dragged out of his thoughts, "What in the hell _happened_ to you?!"

"Oh this?" he stopped himself from gesturing at his face. With his damn luck he'd end up smacking himself. "Eh, it's nothing…"

"Nothing my ass," Remus shook his head after pausing. "C'mon, we need to get out of here before someone else ends up like you…"

Malcolm choked down a laugh. He couldn't blame Remus for saying that. He looked like a fucking train wreck, _that _he knew already. He felt like one, dammit. He sure as hell knew he looked like one…

The noise of several people in the central part of the camp roared through the tunnel leading to the cave. "Several people" was sure as hell a damn understatement. It sounded like the whole camp had gathered in one place and started screaming. His ears hadn't failed him. Every single last one of the bastards, and he realized that it was true.

The sight of all the chaos made him open both eyes. With a slow and lazy, "Ow," he raised his hand to his eye; Lia slapped it away brusquely before walking him along the side of the cave wall. So many fires were lit that he wasn't sure whether or not the whole camp was lit in a huge assortment of fire. There were countless colors surrounding them in a barrier of bright endless light. Everything confused him instantly all to hell.

Never before had he seen the camp in this kind of disaster… It was why Greyback had left in such a hurry. In fact he was sure he spotted the frazzled, tall werewolf amongst those that were fighting.

Children lined the walls in fright, some with their parents—mostly women standing behind them with their tense hands on skinny, underfed shoulders. Others stood silent, alone, and wide-eyed, ready for their first "werewolf rumble". Those were the ones Malcolm chuckled softly at. Being ten years old and growing up in a werewolf camp was no walk in the park, but he knew from experience. Even he had been excited about the concept as a boy.

But when a roar rang through the entire camp, he looked around and focused solely on getting to the entrance. Someone had been killed. More than one probably… Hell, he wasn't even sure why the fuck they were fighting…

But he was damn sure of one thing.

They needed to leave—and fast before someone was snatched away in the mess of writhing bodies and flying fists. When the thought entered his mind, he heard Lia's voice far behind him and realized with a thundering jolt of fear that it had been her all along who had been shouting, roaring, howling, yelling…

"JACOB!"

Their son was gone.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

_Moony73_


End file.
